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TORONTO 


TH  E    CONVERT 


BY 


ELIZABETH   ROBINS 

AUTHOR   OF    "A    DARK    LANTERN," 

"THE  MAGNETIC  NORTH,"  ETC. 


Nefo  gorfc 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1913 

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BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  October,  1907.     Reprinted 
March,  1910 ;  March,  1912  ;  August,  1913. 


GIFT 


NorfoootJ 

J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


THE   CONVERT 


THE   CONVERT 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  tall  young  lady  who  arrived  fifteen  minutes  before  the 
Freddy  Tunbridges'  dinner-hour,  was  not  taken  into  the  great 
empty  drawing-room,  but,  as  though  she  were  not  to  be  of  the  party 
expected  that  night,  straight  upstairs  she  went  behind  the  foot 
man,  and  then  up  more  stairs  behind  a  maid.  The  smart,  white- 
capped  domestic  paused,  and  her  floating  muslin  streamers  cut 
short  their  aerial  gyrations  subsiding  against  her  straight  black 
back  as  she  knocked  at  the  night-nursery  door.  It  was  opened  by 
a  middle-aged  head  nurse  of  impressive  demeanour.  She  stood 
there  an  instant  eyeing  the  intruder  with  the  kind  of  overbearing 
hauteur  that  in  these  days  does  duty  as  the  peculiar  hall-mark 
of  the  upper  servant,  being  seldom  encountered  in  England  among 
even  the  older  generation  of  the  so-called  governing  class. 
'It's  too  late  to  see  the  baby,  miss.  He's  asleep.' 
'Yes,  I  know;  but  the  others  are  expecting  me,  aren't  they?' 
Question  hardly  necessary,  perhaps,  with  the  air  full  of  cries 
from  beyond  the  screen :  '  Yes,  yes.'  *  We're  waiting ! '  '  Mummy 
promised '  —  cut  short  by  the  nurse  saying  sharply,  '  Not  so 
much  noise,  Miss  Sara.'  But  the  presiding  genius  of  the  Tun- 
bridge  nursery  opened  the  door  a  little  wider  and  stood  aside. 
Handsome  compensation  for  her  studied  coldness  was  offered  in 
the  shrill  shrieks  of  joy  with  which  a  little  girl  and  a  very  small  boy 
celebrated  the  lady's  entrance.  She,  for  her  part,  joined  the 
austere  nurse  in  saying,  '  Sh !  sh ! '  and  in  simulating  consterna 
tion  at  the  spectacle  behind  the  screen,  Miss  Sara  jumping  up  and 
down  in  the  middle  of  her  bed  with  wild  brown  hair  swirling  madly 
about  a  laughing  but  mutinous  face.  The  visitor,  hurrying  for 
ward,  received  the  impetuous  little  girl  in  her  arms,  while  the  nurse 

B  I 


2  THE   CONVERT 

described  her  own  sentiments  of  horror  and  detestation  of  such 
performances,  and  hinted  vaguely  at  Retribution  that  might  with 
safety  be  looked  for  no  later  than  the  morrow.  Nobody  listened. 
Miss  Levering  nodded  smiling  across  Sara's  nightgowned  figure 
to  the  little  boy  hanging  over  the  side  of  the  neighbouring  cot. 
But  he  kept  remonstrating,  'You  always  go  to  her  first.' 

The  lady  drew  a  flat,  shiny  wooden  box  out  of  the  inside  pocket 
of  her  cloak.  The  little  girl  seized  it  rapturously. 

'Oh,  did  you  only  bring  Sara's  bock?'  wailed  the  smaller  Tun- 
bridge.  'I  told  you  expecially  we  wanted  two  bocks.' 

'I've  got  two  pockets  and  I've  got  two  bocks.  Let  me  give  him 
his,  Sara  darling.' 

But  'Sara  darling'  dropped  her  own  'bock'  the  better  to  cling 
round  the  neck  of  the  giver. 

Naturally  Master  Cecil  sounded  the  horn  of  indignation. 

'Hush!'  commanded  his  sister.  'Don't  you  know  his  little 
lordship  never  did  that  ? '  And  to  emphasize  this  satirical  appeal 
to  a  higher  standard  of  manners,  Sara  loosened  her  tight-locked 
arms  an  instant;  but  still  holding  to  the  visitor  with  one  hand,  she 
picked  up  the  pillow  and  deftly  hurled  it  at  the  neighbouring  cot, 
extinguishing  the  little  boy.  Through  the  general  recriminations 
that  ensued,  the  culprit  cried  with  shrill  rapture,  'Lady  Gladys 
never  pillow-fought !  Lady  Gladys  was  a  little  lady  and  never 
did  anything  I '  The  merry  eyes  shamelessly  invited  Miss  Levering 
to  mock  at  Dampney's  former  charges.  But  the  visitor  detached 
herself  from  Miss  Sara,  and  wishing  apparently  to  ingratiate 
herself  with  the  offended  majesty  of  the  nurse,  Miss  Levering 
said  gravely  over  her  shoulder,  'Now,  lie  down,  Sara,  and  be  a 
good  girl.'  Sara's  reply  to  that  was  to  (what  she  called)  'diddle 
up  and  down '  on  her  knees  and  emit  shrill  squeals  of  some  pleasur 
able  emotion  not  defined.  This,  too,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Dampney  had  picked  up  the  pillow  and  was  advancing  upon  Miss 
Sara  with  an  expression  calculated  to  shake  the  stoutest  heart. 
It  obviously  shook  the  visitor's.  'Listen,  Sara !  If  you  don't  be 
quiet  and  let  nurse  cover  you  up,  she  won't  want  me  to  stay.' 
Miss  Levering  actually  got  up  off  the  little  boy's  bed,  and  stood  as 
though  ready  to  carry  the  obnoxious  suggestion  into  instant  effect. 

Sara  darted  under  the  bedclothes  like  a  rabbit  into  its  burrow. 
The  rigid  woman,  without  words,  restored  the  tousled  pillow  to  the 


THE   CONVERT  3 

head  of  the  bed,  extracted  Miss  Sara  from  her  hiding-place  with 
one  hand,  smoothed  out  the  rebellious  legs  with  the  other,  covered 
the  child  firmly  over,  and  tucked  the  bedclothes  in. 

'What's  the  use  of  all  that ?     Mother  always  does  it  over  again.' 

'You  know  very  well  she's  been  and  done  it  once  already.' 

'She's  coming  again  if  father  doesn't  need  her.' 

'There's  a  whole  big  dinner-party  needing  her,  so  you  needn't 
think  she  can  come  twice  to  say  good-night  to  a  Jumping- Jack 
like  you.' 

'You  ought  to  say  a  Jumping- Jill,'  amended  Sara. 

During  this  interchange  Master  Cecil  was  complaining  to  the 
visitor  — 

'I  can't  see  you  with  that  thing  all  round  your  head.' 

'  Yes,  take  it  off ! '  his  sister  agreed ;  and  when  the  lady  had 
unwound  her  lace  scarf  —  '  Now  the  coat !  And  you  have  to  sit 
on  my  bed  this  time.  It's  my  turn.' 

As  the  visitor  divested  herself  of  the  long  ermine-lined  garment, 
'  Oh,  you  are  pretty  to-night ! '  observed  the  gallant  young  gentle 
man  over  the  way,  seeming  not  to  have  heard  that  these  effects 
don't  appeal  to  little  boys. 

Sara  silently  craned  her  neck.  Even  the  high  and  mighty 
Mrs.  Dampney,  in  the  surreptitious  way  of  the  superior  servant, 
without  seeming  to  look,  was  covertly  taking  in  the  vision  that  the 
cloak  had  hitherto  obscured.  The  little  girl  followed  with  critical 
eyes  the  movement  of  the  tall  figure,  the  graceful  fall  of  the  cling 
ing  black  lace  gown  embroidered  in  yellow  irises,  the  easy  bend  of  the 
small  waist  in  its  jewelled  belt  of  yellow.  The  growing  approval 
in  the  little  face  culminated  in  an  ecstatic  'Oh-h-h!  let  me  see 
what's  on  your  neck!  That's  new,  isn't  it?' 

'No  —  very  old.' 

'I  didn't  know  there  were  yellow  diamonds,'  said  Sara. 

'There  are;    but  these  are  sapphires.' 

'And  the  little  stones  round?' 

'Yes,  they're  diamonds.' 

1  The  hanging-down  thing  is  such  a  pretty  shape ! ' 

'  Yes,  the  fleur-de-lys  is  a  pretty  shape.  It's  the  flower  of  France, 
you  know  —  just  as  the  thistle  is  the ' 

'There,  now!'  A  penetrating  whisper  came  from  the  other 
bed.  'She's  gone.' 


4  THE   CONVERT 

'It's  you  who've  been  keeping  her  here,  you  know.'  Miss 
Levering  bent  her  neat,  dark  head  over  the  little  girl,  and  the 
gleaming  jewels  swung  forward. 

'Yes,'  said  Cecil,  in  a  tone  of  grandfatherly  disgust;  'yelling 
like  a  wild  Indian.' 

'Well,  you  cried?  said  his  sister  —  'just  because  a  feather  pil 
low  hit  you.'  Her  eye  never  once  left  the  glittering  gaud. 

'  You  see,  Cecil  is  younger  than  you,'  Miss  Levering  reminded 
her. 

'Yes/  said  Sara,  with  conscious  superiority  —  'a  whole  year 
and  eight  months.  But  even  when  I  was  young  /  had  sense.' 

Miss  Levering  laughed.  'You're  a  horrid  little  Pharisee  — 
and  as  wild  as  a  young  colt.'  Contrary  to  received  canons,  the 
visitor  seemed  to  find  something  reassuring  in  the  latter  reflection, 
for  she  kissed  the  small,  self-righteous  face. 

'  You  just  ought  to  have  seen  Sara  this  morning ! '  Cecil  chuckled, 
with  a  generous  admiration  in  family  achievements.  'We  waked 
up  early,  and  Sara  said,  "Let's  go  mountaineering."  So  we  did. 
All  over  the  rocks  and  presserpittses.'  He  waved  his  hand  com 
prehensively  at  the  rugged  scenery  of  the  night-nursery. 

'Of  course  we  had  to  pile  up  the  chairs  and  things,'  his  sister 
explained. 

'And  the  coal  scuttle.' 

'And  we  made  snow  mountains  out  of  the  pillows.  When  the 
chairs  wobbled,  the  coal  and  the  pillows  kept  falling  about;  it  was 
quite  a  real  avalanche,'  Sara  said  conversationally. 

'I  should  think  so,'  agreed  the  guest. 

'Yes;  and  it  was  glorious  when  Sara  excaped  to  the  top  of  the 
wardrobe.' 

'To  the  w '  Miss  Levering  gasped. 

'  Yes.  We  were  having  the  most  perfectly  fascinating  time ' 

Sara  took  up  the  tale. 

But  Cecil  suddenly  sat  bolt  upright,  his  little  face  quite  pink 
with  excitement  at  recollection  of  these  Alpine  exploits. 

'Yes,  Sara  had  come  down  off  the  wardrobe  —  she'd  been 
sitting  on  the  carved  piece  —  she  says  that's  the  Schreckhorn !  — 
but  she'd  come  down  off  it,  and  we  was  just  jumping  about  all 
those  mountains  like  two  shamrocks ' 

'Like  what?' 


THE   CONVERT  5 

' —  when  she  came  in.' 

'Yes,'  agreed  Sara.  'Just  when  we're  happiest  she  always 
comes  interfiddling.' 

'  Oh,  Sara  mine,  I  rather  like  you ! '  said  Miss  Levering,  laying 
her  laughing  face  against  the  tousled  hair. 

'  Now !  Now  ! '  cried  Cecil,  suddenly  beating  with  his  two  fists 
on  the  counterpane  as  though  he'd  seen  as  much  valuable  time 
wasted  as  he  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  tolerate.  '  Go  on  where 
you  left  off.' 

'No,  it's  my  visit  this  time.'  Sara  held  fast  to  her  friend.  'It's 
for  me  to  say  what  we're  going  to  talk  about.' 

*  It's  got  to  be  alligators  ! '  said  Cecil,  waving  his  arms. 

'It  shan't  be  alligators !     I  want  to  know  more  about  Doris.' 

'  Doris  ! '  Cecil's  tone  implied  that  the  human  intelligence  could 
no  lower  sink. 

'Yes.     I  expect  you  like  her  better  than  you  do  us.' 

'Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  like  my  niece  best?' 

'No'  — from  Cecil. 

'You  said  we  belonged  to  you,  too,'  observed  Miss  Sara. 

'Of  course.' 

'And  all  aunts,'  she  pursued,  'don't  like  their  nieces  so  dread- 
fully.' 

'  Don't  they  ? '  inquired  Miss  Levering,  with  an  elaborate  air  of 
innocence. 

'You  didn't  say  how-do-you-do  to  me,'  said  Cecil,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  makes  a  useful  discovery. 

'What?' 

'Why,  she  went  to  you  the  minute  I  threw  the  pillow/ 

'That  was  just  to  save  me  from  being  dead.  It  isn't  a  proper 
how-do-you-do  when  she  doesn't  hug  you.' 

'I'll  hug  you  when  I  go.' 

But  a  better  plan  than  that  occurred  to  Cecil.  He  flung  down 
the  covers  with  the  decision  of  one  called  to  set  about  some  urgent 
business. 

'Cecil!    I  simply  won't  have  you  catching  cold!' 

Before  the  words  were  out  of  Miss  Levering's  mouth  he  had 
tumbled  out  of  bed  and  leapt  into  her  lap.  He  clasped  his  arms 
round  her  neck  wich  an  air  of  rapturous  devotion,  but  what  he 
said  was  — 


6  THE   CONVERT 

'Go  on  'bout  the  alligator.' 

'No,  no.  Go  'way!'  protested  Sara,  pushing  him  with  hands 
and  feet. 

'Sh!    You  really  will  have  nurse  back!' 

That  horrid  thought  coerced  the  prudent  Sara  to  endurance  of 
the  interloping  brother.  And  now  of  his  own  accord  Cecil  had 
taken  his  arms  from  round  his  friend's  neck. 

'That's  horrid !'  he  said.  'I  don't  like  that  hard  thing.  Take 
it  off.' 

'Let  me.'     Sara  sat  up  with  alacrity.     'Let  me.' 

But  Miss  Levering  undid  the  sapphire  necklace  herself.  'If 
you'll  be  very  careful,  Sara,  I'll  let  you  hold  it.'  It  was  as  if  she 
well  knew  the  deft  little  hands  she  had  delivered  the  ornament  to, 
and  knew  equally  well  that  in  her  present  mood,  absorption  in  the 
beauty  of  it  would  keep  the  woman-child  still. 

'There,  that's  better!'  Cecil  replaced  his  arms  firmly  where 
the  necklace  had  been. 

Miss  Levering  pulled  up  her  long  cloak  from  the  bottom  of 
the  bed  and  wrapped  the  little  boy  in  the  warm  lining.  The 
comfort  of  the  arrangement  was  so  great,  and  it  implied  so  little 
necessity  for  'hanging  on,'  that  Cecil  loosed  his  arms  and  lay  curled 
up  against  his  friend. 

She  held  him  close,  adapting  her  lithe  slimness  to  the  easy 
supporting  and  enfolding  of  the  childish  figure.  The  little  girl 
was  absorbed  in  the  necklace  after  her  strenuous  hour;  the  boy, 
content  for  a  moment,  having  gained  his  point,  just  to  lie  at  his 
ease;  the  woman  rested  her  cheek  on  his  ruffled  hair  and  looked 
straight  before  her. 

As  she  sat  there  holding  him,  something  came  into  her  face, 
guiltless  though  it  was  of  any  traceable  change,  without  the  veri 
fiable  movement  of  a  muscle,  something  none  the  less  that  would 
have  minded  the  beholder  uneasily  to  search  the  eyes  for  tears, 
and,  finding  no  tears  there,  to  feel  no  greater  sense  of  reassurance. 

So  motionless  she  sat  that  presently  the  child  turned  up  his  rosy 
face,  and  seeing  the  brooding  look,  it  was  plain  he  had  the  sense 
of  being  somehow  left  behind.  He  put  up  his  hand  to  her  cheek, 
and  rubbed  it  softly  with  his  own. 

'I  don't  like  you  like  that.     Tell  me  about ' 

'  Like  what  ? '  said  the  lady. 


THE   CONVERT  7 

'Like  —  I  don't  know.'  Then,  with  a  sudden  inspiration, 
'Uncle  Ronald  says  you're  like  the  Sphinx.  Who  are  they?' 

'Who  are  who?' 

'Why,  the  Sfmks.  Have  they  got  a  boy?  Is  the  little  Sfink 
as  old  as  me?  Oh,  you  only  laugh,  just  like  Uncle  Ronald.  He 
asked  us  why  we  liked  you,  and  we  told  him.' 

'You've  never  told  me.' 

'Oh,  didn't  we?    Well,  it's  because  you  aren't  beady.' 

'Beady?' 

'Yes.     We  hate  all  beady  ladies,  don't  we,  Sara?' 

'Yes;  but  it's  my  turn.'  However,  she  said  it  half-heartedly 
as  she  stopped  drawing  the  shining  jewels  lightly  through  her  slim 
fingers,  and  began  gently  to  swing  the  fleur-de-lys  back  and  forth 
like  a  pendulum  that  glanced  bewitchingly  in  the  light. 

Miss  Levering  knew  that  the  next  phase  would  be  to  try  it  on, 
but  for  the  moment  Sara  had  still  half  an  ear  for  general  conver 
sation. 

'We  hate  them  to  have  hard  things  on  their  shoulders'.'  Cecil 
explained. 

'  On  their  shoulders  ? '  Miss  Levering  asked. 

'Here,  just  in  the  way  of  our  heads.' 

'Yes,  bead-trimming  on  their  dresses,'  explained  the  little  girl. 

'Hard  stuff  that  scratches  when  they  hold  you  tight.'  Cecil 
cuddled  his  impudent  round  face  luxuriously  on  the  soft  lace- 
covered  shoulder  of  the  visitor,  and  laughed  up  in  her  face. 

'Aunts  are  very  beady,'  said  Sara,  absent-mindedly,  as  she  tried 
the  effect  of  the  glitter  against  her  night-gown. 

'Grandmothers  are  worse,'  amended  Cecil.  'They're  beady 
and  bu-gly,  too.' 

'What's  bewgly?' 

'Well,  it's  what  my  grandmother  called  them  when  I  pulled 
some  of  them  off.  Not  proper  bugles,  you  know,  what  you  "too ! 
too!  too!"  make  music  with  when  you're  fighting  the  enemy. 
My  grandmother  thinks  bugles  are  little  shiny  black  things  only 
about  that  long '  —  he  measured  less  than  an  inch  on  his  minute 
fore-finger  —  '  with  long  holes  through  so  they  can  sew  them  on 
their  clothes.' 

'On  their  caps,  too,'  said  Sara;  'only  they're  usurally  white 
when  they're  on  caps.' 


8  THE   CONVERT 

'Here's  your  mother  coming!  Now,  what  will  she  say  to  you, 
Cecil?' 

They  turned  their  eyes  to  the  door,  strangely  unwelcoming  for 
Laura  Tunbridge's  children,  and  their  young  faces  betrayed  no 
surprise  when  the  very  different  figure  of  Nurse  Dampney  emerged 
from  behind  the  tall  chintz  screen  that  protected  the  cots  from  any 
draught  through  the  opening  door.  Cecil,  with  an  action  of  set 
tled  despair,  turned  from  the  spectacle,  and  buried  his  face  for 
one  last  moment  of  comfort  in  Vida  Levering's  shoulder;  while 
Sara,  with  a  baleful  glance,  muttered  — 

'I  knew  it  was  that  old  interfiddler.' 

'Now,  Master  Cecil ' 

'Yes,  nurse.'     Miss  Levering  carried  him  back  to  his  cot. 

'Mrs.  Tunbridge  has  sent  up,  miss,  to  know  if  you've  come. 
They're  waiting  dinner.' 

'  Not  really !    Is  it  a  quarter  past  already  ? ' 

'More  like  twenty  minutes,  miss.' 

The  lady  caught  up  her  necklace,  cut  short  her  good-byes,  and 
fled  downstairs,  clasping  the  shining  thing  round  her  neck  as  she 
went  —  a  swaying  figure  in  soft  flying  draperies  and  gleaming, 
upraised  arms. 

She  entered  the  drawing-room  with  a  quiet  deliberation  greater 
even  than  common.  It  was  the  effect  that  haste  and  contrition 
frequently  wrought  in  her  —  one  of  the  things  that  made  folk  call 
her  'too  self-contained,'  even  'a  trifle  supercilious.' 

But  when  other  young  women,  recognizing  some  not  easily 
definable  charm  in  this  new-comer  into  London  life,  tried  to  copy 
the  effect  alluded  to,  it  was  found  to  be  less  imitable  than  it  looked. 


CHAPTER  H 

THERE  were  already  a  dozen  or  so  persons  in  the  gold-and- 
white  drawing-room,  yet  the  moment  Vida  Levering  entered,  she 
knew  from  the  questing  glance  Mrs.  Freddy  sent  past  her  chil 
dren's  visitor,  that  even  now  the  party  was  not  complete. 

Other  eyes  turned  that  way  as  the  servant  announced  'Miss 
Levering.'  It  is  seldom  that  in  this  particular  stratum  of  London 
life  anything  so  uncontrolled  and  uncontrollable  as  a  'sensation' 
is  permitted  to  chequer  the  even  distribution  of  subdued  good 
humour  that  reigns  so  modestly  in  the  drawing-rooms  of  the 
Tunbridge  world.  If  any  one  is  so  ill-advised  as  to  bring  to  these 
gatherings  anything  resembling  a  sensation,  even  if  it  is  of  the  less 
challengeable  sort  of  striking  personal  beauty,  the  general  aim  of 
the  company  is  to  pretend  either  that  they  see  nothing  unusual  in 
the  conjunction,  or  that  they,  for  their  part,  are  impervious  to  such 
impacts.  Vida  Levering's  beauty  was  not  strictly  of  the  eclatant 
type.  If  it  did  —  as  could  not  be  denied  —  arrest  the  eye,  its 
refusal  to  let  attenion  go  was  mitigated  by  something  in  the  quiet 
ness,  the  disarming  softness,  with  which  the  hold  was  maintained. 
Men  making  her  acquaintance  frequently  went  through  four  dis 
tinct  phases  in  their  feeling  about  her.  The  first  was  the  common 
natural  one,  the  instant  stirring  of  the  pulses  that  beauty  of  any 
sort  produces  in  persons  having  the  eye  that  sees.  The  second 
stage  was  a  rousing  of  the  instinct  to  be  'on  guard,'  which  feminine 
beauty  not  infrequently  breeds  in  the  breasts  of  men.  Not  on 
guard  so  much  against  the  thing  itself,  or  even  against  ready  sub 
mission  to  it,  but  against  allowing  onlookers  to  be  witness  of  such 
submission.  Even  the  very  young  man  knows  either  by  experience 
or  hearsay,  that  women  have  concentrated  upon  their  faculty  for 
turning  this  particular  weapon  to  account,  all  the  skill  they  would 
have  divided  among  other  resources  had  there  been  others.  Yet 
the  charm  is  something  too  delicious  even  to  desire  to  escape  from 
—  the  impulse  centres  in  a  determination  to  seem  untouched, 
immune. 


io  THE   CONVERT 

The  third  stage  in  this  declension  from  pleasure  through  caution 
to  reassurance  is  induced  by  something  so  gentle,  so  unemphatic 
in  the  Vida  Levering  aspect,  so  much  what  the  man  thinks  'femi 
nine,'  that  even  the  wariest  male  is  reassured.  He  comes  to  be 
almost  as  easy  before  this  particular  type  of  allurement  as  he  would 
be  with  the  frankly  plain  '  good  sort ' ;  only  there  is  all  about  him 
the  exquisite  aroma  of  a  subtle  charm  which  he  may  almost  per 
suade  himself  that  he  alone  perceives,  since  this  softly  gracious 
creature  seems  so  little  to  insist  upon  it  —  seems,  indeed,  to  be 
herself  unaware  of  its  presence.  Whereupon  the  man  conceives 
a  new  idea  of  his  own  perspicacity  in  detecting  a  thing  at  once  so 
agreeable  and  so  little  advertised.  He  may,  with  a  woman  of  this 
kind,  go  long  upon  the  third  '  tack '  —  may,  indeed,  never  know 
it  was  she  who  gently  'shunted'  him,  still  unenlightened,  and  left 
him  side-tracked,  but  cherishing  to  the  end  of  time  the  soothing 
conviction  that  he  'might  an'  if  he  would.'  To  the  more  robust 
order  of  man  will  come  a  day  of  awakening,  when  he  rubs  his  eyes 
and  retreats  hurriedly  with  a  sense  of  good  faith  injured  —  nay, 
of  hopes  positively  betrayed.  If  she  were  'that  sort,'  why  not  hang 
out  some  signal?  It  wasn't  playing  fair. 

And  so  without  anything  so  crude  as  a  sensation,  but  with  a 
retinue  of  covert  looks  following  in  her  train,  she  made  her  way  to 
the  young  hostess,  and  was  there  joined  by  two  men  and  a  middle- 
aged  woman,  who  plainly  had  been  a  beauty,  and  though  'gone 
to  fat,'  as  the  vulgar  say,  had  yet  kept  her  complexion.  With  an 
air  of  genial  authority,  the  pink-cheeked  Lady  John  Ulland  pro 
ceeded  to  appropriate  the  new-comer  in  the  midst  of  a  general  hum 
of  conversation,  whose  key  to  the  sensitive  ear  had  become  a  little 
heightened  since  the  last  arrival.  The  women  grew  more  insist 
ently  vivacious  in  proportion  as  the  men's  minds  seemed  to  wander 
from  matters  they  had  discussed  contentedly  enough  before. 

Mrs.  Freddy  Tunbridge  was  a  very  popular  person.  It  was 
agreed  that  nobody  willingly  missed  one  of  her  parties.  There 
were  those  who  said  this  was  not  so  much  because  of  her  and  Mr. 
Freddy,  though  they  were  eminently  likeable  people;  not  merely 
because  you  met  'everybody'  there,  and  not  even  because  of  the 
excellence  of  their  dinners.  Notoriously  this  last  fact  fails  to 
appeal  very  powerfully  to  the  majority  of  women,  and  it  is  they, 
not  men,  who  make  the  social  reputation  of  the  hostess.  There 


THE   CONVERT  n 

was  in  this  particular  case  a  theory,  held  even  by  those  who  did 
not  care  especially  about  Mrs.  Freddy,  that  hers  was  an  'amusing,' 
above  all,  perhaps,  a  'becoming,'  house.  People  had  a  pleasant 
consciousness  of  looking  uncommon  well  in  her  pretty  drawing- 
room.  Others  said  it  wasn't  the  room,  it  was  the  lighting,  which 
certainly  was  most  discerningly  done  —  not  dim,  and  yet  so  far 
from  glaring  that  quite  plain  people  enjoyed  there  a  brief  unwonted 
hour  of  good  looks.  Only  a  limited  amount  of  electricity  was  used, 
and  that  little  was  carefully  masked  and  modulated,  while  the  two 
great  chandeliers  each  of  them  held  aloft  a  very  forest  of  wax 
candles.  It  was  known,  too,  that  the  spell  was  in  no  danger  of 
being  rudely  broken.  The  same  tender  but  festive  radiance  would 
bathe  the  hospitable  board  of  the  great  oak  dining-room  below. 

And  why  were  they  not  processing  thither? 

'  Is  it  my  sister  who  is  late  ? '  Miss  Levering  asked,  turning  her 
slim  neck  in  that  deliberate  way  of  hers  to  look  about  the  room. 

'No;  your  sister  is  over  there,  talking  to—  Oh  —  a  — 
Mrs.  Freddy,  having  looked  round  to  refresh  her  memory,  was 
fain  to  slur  over  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  was  in  the  corner 
by  the  pierced  screen,  not  talking  to  any  one,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
staring  dark-visaged,  gloomy,  sibylline,  at  a  leaflet  advertising  a 
charity  concert,  a  document  conspicuously  left  by  Mrs.  Freddy  on 
a  little  table.  On  her  way  to  rescue  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  from  her 
desert  island  of  utter  loneliness,  Mrs.  Freddy  saw  Sir  William 
Haycroft,  the  newly-made  Cabinet  Minister,  rather  pointedly 
making  his  escape  from  a  tall,  keen-looking,  handsome  woman 
wearing  eye-glasses  and  iron-grey  hair  dressed  commandingly. 

Without  a  qualm  Mrs.  Freddy  abandoned  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  to 
prolonged  exile,  in  order  to  soothe  the  ruffled  minister. 

'I  think,'  she  said,  pausing  in  front  of  the  great  man  and  deli 
cately  offering  him  an  opportunity  to  make  any  predilection 
known —  'I  think  you  know  every  one  here.' 

Haycroft  muttered  in  his  beard  —  but  his  eyes  had  lit  upon  the 
new  face. 

'Who's  that ?'  he  said;  but  his  tone  added,  'Not  that  it  matters.' 

'You  don't  know  her?  Well,  that's  a  proof  of  how  you've 
neglected  your  friends  since  the  new  Government  came  in.  But 
you  really  mean  it  —  that  nobody  has  introduced  you  to  Miss 
Levering  yet  ?  What  is  Freddy  thinking  about ! ' 


12  THE   CONVERT 

'Dinner!'  replied  a  voice  at  her  elbow  with  characteristic 
laconism,  and  Freddy  Tunbridge  pulled  out  his  watch. 

'Oh,  give  them  five  minutes  more,'  said  his  wife,  indulgently. 

'That's  not  a  daughter  of  old  Sir  Hervey?'  pursued  the  other 
man,  Lis  eyes  still  on  the  young  woman  talking  to  Lady  John  and 
the  foreign  ambassador. 

'Yes;  go  on,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy,  with  as  cloudless  a  brow  as 
though  she  had  no  need  to  manufacture  conversation  while  the 
dinner  was  being  kept  waiting.  'Go  on !  They  all  do  it.' 

'  Do  what  ? '   demanded  the  great  man,  suspiciously. 

'"Why  haven't  they  seen  her  before"  comes  next.  Then  the 
next  time  you  and  I  meet  in  the  country  or  find  ourselves  alone 
in  a  crush,  you'll  be  saying,  "What's  her  story?  Why  hasn't  a 
woman  like  that  married?"  They  all  do!  You  don't  believe 

me  ?  Just  wait !  Freddy  shall  take  you  over,  and '  Was 

Mrs.  Freddy  beaming  at  the  prospective  success  of  her  new  friend, 
or  was  her  vanity  flattered  by  reflecting  upon  her  own  perspicacity  ? 
Unavoidable  as  it  was  in  a  way  that  Mrs.  Graham  Townley  should 
be  taken  down  to  dinner  by  the  new  minister  —  nevertheless  the 
antidote  had  been  cleverly  provided  for.  '  Freddy  dear  —  why,  I 
thought  he  was  —  Oh,  there  he  is  ! '  Seeing  her  hungry  hus 
band  safely  anchored  in  front  of  the  iris  gown,  instantly  she 
abandoned  the  idea  of  disturbing  him.  'After  all,'  she  said,  turn 
ing  again  to  Haycroft,  who  had  stood  the  image  of  stolid  unim- 
pressionableness  —  '  after  all,  Freddy's  right.  Since  she's  going 
to  sit  beside  you  at  dinner,  it's  a  good  reason  for  not  making  you 
known  to  each  other  before.  Or  perhaps  you  never  experience 
that  awful  feeling  of  being  talked  out  by  the  time  you  go  down, 

and  not  having  a  single  thing  left '  She  saw  that  the  great 

man  was  not  going  to  vouchsafe  any  contribution  to  her  small 
attempt  to  keep  the  ball  rolling ;  so  without  giving  him  the  chance 
to  mark  her  failure  by  a  silence,  however  brief,  she  chattered  on. 
'  Though  with  Vida  you're  not  likely  to  find  yourself  in  that  predica 
ment.  Is  he,  Ronald?'  With  the  instinct  of  the  well-trained 
female  to  draw  into  her  circle  any  odd  man  hovering  about  on  the 
periphery,  Mrs.  Freddy  appealed  to  her  brother-in-law.  Lord 
Borrodaile  turned  in  her  direction  his  long  sallow  face  —  a  face 
that  would  have  been  saturnine  but  for  its  touch  of  whimsicality 
and  a  singularly  charming  smile.  'My  brother-in-law  will  bear 


THE   CONVERT  13 

me  out,'  Mrs.  Freddy  went  on,  quite  as  though  breaking  off  a 
heated  argument. 

Lord  Borrodaile  sauntered  up  and  offered  a  long  thin  hand  to 
Haycroft  ('the  fella  who's  bringing  the  country  to  the  dogs,'  as 
Mrs.  Freddy  knew  right  well  was  his  conviction). 

Steering  wide  of  politics,  'I  gather,'  he  said,  with  his  air  of 
amiable  boredom,  'that  you  were  discussing  what  used  in  the  days 
of  my  youth  to  be  called  a  lady's  "conversational  powers."' 

'I  forbid  you  to  apply  such  deadly  phrases  to  my  friend,'  Mrs. 
Freddy  denounced  him.  l  Your  friend,  too  ! ' 

'I'll  prove  my  title  to  the  distinction  by  proclaiming  that  she  has 
the  subtlest  art  a  woman  can  possess.' 

'Ah,  that's  more  like  it!'  said  Mrs.  Freddy,  gaily.  'What  is 
the  subtlest  art?' 

'The  art  of  being  silent  without  being  dull.' 

If  there  was  any  sting  in  this  for  the  lady  nearest  him,  she  gave 
no  sign  of  making  the  personal  application. 

1  Now  I  expressly  forbid  your  encouraging  Vida  in  silence ! 
Most  men  like  to  be  amused.  You  know  perfectly  well  you  do  ! ' 

'Ah,  yes,'  he  said  languidly,  catching  Haycroft's  eye  and  almost 
making  terms  with  him  upon  a  common  ground  of  masculine 
understanding.  'Yes,  yes.  It  is  well  known  what  children  we 
are.  Pleased  with  a  rattle!'  Then,  as  if  fearing  he  might  be 
going  too  far,  he  smiled  that  disarming  smile  of  his,  and  said  good- 
humouredly,  'I  know  now  why  you  are  called  a  good  hostess.' 

'Why?'  asked  the  lady  a  little  anxiously,  for  his  compliments 
were  not  always  soothing. 

A  motion  towards  the  watch-pocket.  'No  one,  to  look  at  you, 
would  suppose  that  your  spirit  was  racked  between  the  clock  and 
the  door.' 

'Oh,'  she  said,  relieved,  'if  they  come  in  five  minutes  or  so, 
you'll  see!  The  dinner  won't  be  a  penny  the  worse.  Jules  is 
such  a  wizard.  All  I  mind  is  seeing  Freddy  fussed.'  She  turned 
with  an  engaging  smile  to  her  minister  again.  'Freddy  has  the 
most  angelic  temper  except  when  he's  hungry  —  bless  him  !  Now 
that  he's  talking  to  Vida  Levering,  Freddy'll  forget  whether  it's 
before  dinner  or  after.' 

'What!  what!'  said  a  brisk  old  gentleman,  with  a  face  like 
a  peculiarly  wicked  monkey.  He  abandoned  Mrs.  Townley  with 


I4  THE   CONVERT 

enthusiasm  in  order  to  say  to  his  hostess,  '  Show  me  the  witch  who 
can  work  that  spell  1 ' 

'Oh,  dear,  I'm  afraid,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy,  prettily,  'I'm  dread 
fully  afraid  that  means  you're  starving  !  Does  it  make  you  morose 
as  it  does  Freddy  ? '  she  asked,  with  an  air  of  comic  terror.  '  Then 
we  won't  wait.'  She  tossed  out  one  arm  with  a  funny  little  move 
ment  that  sent  her  thin  draperies  floating  as  though  towards  the 
bell. 

'  My  dear  lady  1 '  the  old  gentleman  arrested  her.  '  I  hunger,  it  is 
true,  but  only  for  knowledge.'  In  a  silent  but  rather  horrible  laugh 
he  wrinkled  up  his  aged  nose,  which  was  quite  enough  wrinkled 
and  sufficiently  'up'  already.  'Who  is  the  witch?' 

'Why,  we  were  talking  about  a  member  of  your  family.'  She 
turned  again  to  the  new  minister.  '  Mr.  Fox-Moore  —  Sir  — 
oh !  how  absurd !  I  was  going  to  introduce  two  pillars  of  the 
State  to  one  another.  I  must  be  anxious  about  those  late  people, 
after  all.' 

'As  a  matter  of  fact  you  and  I  never  have  met,'  said  Haycroft, 
cordially  taking  old  Mr.  Fox-Moore's  hand.  'Beside  you  per 
manent  officials  we  ephemerae,  the  sport  of  parties ' 

'Ah,  that's  all  right!'  Mrs.  Freddy's  head,  poised  an  instant 
on  one  side,  seemed  to  say. 

'Who  is  it?  Who  is  late?'  demanded  Mrs.  Graham  Townley, 
whose  entrance  into  the  conversation  produced  the  effect  of  the 
sudden  opening  of  window  and  door  on  a  windy  day.  People 
shrink  a  little  in  the  draught,  and  all  light,  frivolous  things  are 
blown  out  of  the  way.  English  people  stand  this  sort  of  thing 
very  much  as  they  stand  the  actual  draughts  in  their  cold  houses. 
They  feel  it  to  be  good  for  them  on  the  whole.  Mrs.  Graham 
Townley  was  acknowledged  to  be  a  person  of  much  character. 
Though  her  interest  in  public  affairs  was  bounded  only  by  the 
limits  of  the  Empire,  she  had  found  time  to  reform  the  administra 
tion  of  a  great  London  hospital.  Also  she  was  related  to  a  great 
many  people.  In  the  ultra  smart  set  she  of  course  had  no  raison 
d'etre,  but  in  the  older  society  it  was  held  meet  that  these  things 
be.  So  that  when  she  put  her  question,  not  only  was  she  not 
ignored,  but  each  one  felt  it  a  serious  thing  for  anybody  to  be  so 
late  that  Mrs.  Graham  Townley  instead  of  button-holing  some 
one  with,  'What,  now,  should  you  say  is  the  extent  of  the  Pan- 


THE   CONVERT  15 

Islamic  influence  in  Egypt?'  should  be  reduced  to  asking,  'Who 
are  we  waiting  for?' 

'It's  certain  to  be  a  man,'  said  Lady  John  Ulland,  as  calmly 
convinced  as  one  who  states  a  natural  law. 

'Why?'   asked  her  niece,  the  charming  girl  in  rose  colour. 

'No  woman  would  dare  to  come  in  so  late  as  this.  She'd  have 
turned  back  and  telephoned  that  the  horses  had  run  away  with  her 
or  something  of  the  sort.' 

'Dick  Farnborough  won't  turn  back.' 

'Oh,  Mr.  Farnborough's  the  culprit!'  said  a  smartly  dressed 
woman,  with  a  nervous,  rather  angry  air,  though  the  ropes  of  fine 
pearls  she  wore  might,  some  would  think,  have  soothed  the  most 
savage  breast. 

'Yes,  Dick  and  Captain  Beeching!'  said  Mrs.  Freddy;  'and 
I  shall  give  them  just  two  minutes  more ! ' 

'Aunt  Ellen  said  it  couldn't  be  a  woman,'  remarked  the  girl  in 
pink,  as  one  struck  with  such  perspicacity. 

'Well,  I  wouldn't  ask  them  again  to  my  house,'  said  the  dis 
contented  person  with  the  pearls. 

'Yes,  she  would,'  Lady  John  said  aside  to  Borrodaile.  'She 
has  a  daughter,  and  so  have  most  of  the  London  hostesses,  and  the 
young  villains  know  it.' 

'Oh,  yes;  sometimes  they  never  turn  up  at  all,'  said  the  pink 
niece. 

'  After  accepting ! '  ejaculated  Lady  Whyteleafe  of  the  pearls. 

'Oh,  yes;  sometimes  they  don't  even  answer.' 

'I  never  heard  of  such  impudence.' 

'I  have,  twice  this  year,'  said  Mrs.  Graham  Townley,  with  that 
effect  of  breaking  by  main  force  into  a  conversation  instead  of 
being  drawn  into  it.  'Twice  in  this  last  year  I've  sat  with  an 
empty  place  on  one  side  of  me  at  a  dinner-party.  On  each  occa 
sion  it  was  a  young  member  of  parliament  who  never  turned  up 
and  never  sent  an  apology.' 

'The  same  man  both  times?'  asked  Lord  Borrodaile. 

'Yes;  different  houses,  but  the  same  man.' 

'He  knew!'  whispered  Borrodaile  in  Lady  John's  ear. 

'  Dick  Farnborough  has  been  complaining  that  since  he  smashed 
his  motor  all  existence  has  become  disorganized.  I  always  feel'  — 
the  hostess  addressed  herself  to  the  minister  and  the  pearls  — 


16  THE   CONVERT 

'don't  you,  that  one  ought  to  stretch  a  point  for  people  who  have 
to  go  about  in  cabs?' 

As  Haycroft  began  a  disquisition  on  the  changes  in  social  life 
initiated  by  the  use  of  the  motor-car,  Mrs.  Freddy  floated  away. 

Borrodaile,  looking  after  her,  remarked,  'It's  humane  of  my 
sister-in-law  to  think  of  making  allowances.  Most  of  us  gratify 
the  dormant  cruelty  in  human  nature  by  keeping  an  eagle  eye  on 
the  wretched  late  ones  when  at  last  they  do  slink  in.  Don't  you 
know '  —  he  turned  to  Lady  John  —  '  that  look  of  half -resentful 
interest?' 

'Perfectly.  Every  one  wants  to  see  whether  these  particular 
culprits  wear  their  rue  with  a  difference.' 

'Or  whether,'  Borrodaile  went  on,  'whether,  like  the  majority, 
they  merely  look  abject  and  flustered,  and  whisper  agitated  lies. 
Personally  I  have  known  it  to  be  the  most  interesting  moment  of 
the  evening.' 

What  brought  Mrs.  Fox-Moore's  plight  forcibly  home  to  Mrs. 
Freddy  was  seeing  Vida  leave  her  own  animated  group  to  join 
her  sister.  Mrs.  Freddy  made  her  way  across  the  room,  stop 
ping  a  moment  to  say  to  Freddy  as  she  passed  — 

'  Do  go  and  make  conversation  to  Lady  Whyteleafe.' 

'Which  is  Lady  Whyteleafe?'  drawled  Freddy. 

'  Oh,  you  always  forget  her !  What  am  I  to  do  with  you  ?  She's 
the  woman  with  the  pearls.' 

'Not  that  cross-looking ' 

'Sh!  Yes,  darling,  that's  the  one.  She's  only  looking  like 
that  because  you  aren't  talking  to  her;'  and  Mrs.  Freddy  over 
took  Vida  just  as  she  reached  the  Desert  Island  where  Mrs.  Fox- 
Moore  stood,  looking  seaward  for  a  sail. 

A  few  moments  later,  after  ringing  for  dinner,  Mrs.  Freddy 
paused  an  instant,  taking  in  the  fact  that  Lady  Whyteleafe  hadn't 
been  made  as  happy  by  Mr.  Tunbridge's  attentions  as  his  wife 
had  prophesied.  No,  the  angry  woman  with  the  pearls,  so  far 
from  being  intent  upon  Freddy's  remarks,  was  levelling  at  Mrs. 
Freddy  the  critical  eye  that  says,  '  Now  I  shall  see  if  I  can  deter 
mine  just  how  miserably  conscious  you  are  that  dinner's  unpar- 
donably  late,  everybody  starving,  and  since  you've  only  just  rung, 
that  you  have  at  least  eight  minutes  still  to  fill  up  before  you'll  hear 
that  you  are  "served."'  Lady  Whyteleafe  leaned  against  the 


THE   CONVERT  17 

back  of  the  little  periwinkle  damask  sofa,  and  waited  to  see  Mrs. 
Freddy  carry  off  these  last  minutes  of  suspense  by  an  affectation 
of  great  good  spirits. 

But  the  lady  under  the  social  microscope  knew  a  trick  worth 
two  of  that.  She  could  turn  more  than  one  mishap  to  account. 

*  Oh,  Freddy  1  Oh,  Lady  Whyteleafe !  I've  just  gone  and  said 
the  most  awful,  dreadful,  appalling  thing  1  Oh,  I  should  like  to 
creep  under  the  sofa  and  die ! ' 

'What's  up?'  demanded  Mr.  Freddy,  with  an  air  of  relief  at 
being  reinforced. 

'I've  been  talking  to  Vida  Levering  and  that  funereal  sister  of 
hers.' 

'  Oh,  Mrs.  Fox-Moore ! '  said  Lady  Whyteleafe,  obviously  dis 
appointed.  'She's  a  step-sister,  isn't  she?' 

'Yes,  yes.     Oh,  I  wish  she'd  never  stepped  over  my  threshold !' 

'Why?'   said  Mr.  Freddy,  sticking  in  his  eye-glass. 

'Don't,  Freddy.     Don't  look  at  her.     Oh,  I  wish  I  were  dead !' 

'What  have  you  been  doing?  She  looks  as  if  she  wished  she 
were  dead.' 

'That's  nothing.  She  always  looks  like  that,'  Lady  Whyteleafe 
assured  the  pair. 

'Yes,  and  she  makes  it  a  great  favour  to  come.  "I  seldom  go 
into  society,"  she  writes  in  her  stiff  little  notes;  and  you're  re 
minded  that  way,  without  her  actually  setting  it  down,  that  she 
devotes  herself  to  good  works.' 

'  Perhaps  she  doesn't  know  what  else  to  do  with  all  that  money/ 
said  the  lady  of  the  pearls. 

'She  hasn't  got  a  penny  piece.' 

'  Oh,  is  it  ;<!!  his  ?    I  thought  the  Leverings  were  rather  well  off/ 

'Yes,  but  the  money  came  through  the  second  wife,  Vida's 
mother.  Oh,  I  hate  that  Fox-Moore  woman!'  Mrs.  Freddy 
laughed  ruefully.  'And  I'm  sure  her  husband  is  a  great  deal  too 
good  for  her.  But  how  could  I  have  done  it  1 ' 

'You  haven't  told  us  yet.' 

'They  asked  me  who  was  late,  and  I  said  Dick  Farnborough, 
and  that  I  hoped  he  hadn't  forgotten,  for  I  had  Hermione  Heriot 
here  on  purpose  to  meet  him.  And  I  told  Vida  about  the  Heriots 
trying  to  marry  Hermione  to  that  old  Colonel  Redding.' 

'Oh,  can't  they  bring  it  off?'  said  Lady  Whyteleafe. 
c 


iS  THE   CONVERT 

'I've  been  afraid  they  would.  "It's  so  dreadful,"  I  said,  "to 
see  a  fresh  young  girl  tied  to  a  worn-out  old  man."' 

'Oh/'  remarked  Lady  Whyteleafe,  genuinely  shocked.  'And 
you  said  that  to ' 

Mrs.  Freddy  nodded  with  melancholy  significance.  '  Even  when 
Vida  said,  "It  seems  to  do  well  enough  sometimes,"  still  I  never 
never  remembered  the  Fox-Moore  story!  And  I  went  on  about 
it  being  a  miracle  when  it  turned  out  even  tolerably  —  and,  oh, 
Heaven  forgive  me !  I  grew  eloquent ! ' 

'It's  your  passion  for  making  speeches,'  said  Mr.  Freddy. 

At  which,  accountably  to  Lady  Whyteleafe,  Mrs.  Freddy  blushed 
and  stumbled  in  this  particular  'speech.' 

'I  know,  I  know,'  she  said,  carrying  it  off  with  an  air  of  comic 
contrition.  'I  even  said,  "There's  a  modesty  in  nature  that  it 
isn't  wise  to  overstep"  (I'd  forgotten  some  people  think  speech- 
making  comes  under  that  head).  "It's  been  realized,"  I  said  — 
yes,  rushing  on  my  doom!  —  "it's  been  realized  up  to  now  only 
in  the  usual  one-sided  way  —  discouraging  boys  from  marrying 
women  old  enough  to  be  their  mothers.  But  dear,  blundering, 
fatuous  man"3  —  she  smiled  into  her  husband's  pleasantly  mock 
ing  face  —  "lhe  thinks,"  I  said,  "at  any  age  he's  a  fit  mate  for  a 
fresh  young  creature  in  her  teens.  If  they  only  knew  —  the  dread 
ful  old  ogres  ! "  Yes,  I  said  that.  I  piled  it  on  —  oh,  I  stuck  at 
nothing !  "The  men  think  an  ugly  old  woman  monopolizes  all  the 
opportunities  humanity  offers  for  repulsiveness.  But  there's  noth 
ing  on  the  face  of  the  earth  as  hideous,"  I  said,  "as  an  ugly  old 
man.  Doesn't  it  stand  to  reason?  He's  bound  to  go  greater 
lengths  than  any  woman  can  aspire  to.  There's  more  of  him  to 
be  ugly,  isn't  there  ?  I  appealed  to  them  —  everything  about  him 
is  bigger,  coarser — he's  much  less  human,"  says  I,  "and  much 
more  like  a  dreadful  old  monkey."  I  raised  my  wretched  eyes,  and 
there,  not  three  feet  away,  was  the  aged  husband  of  the  Fox-Moore 
woman  ogling  Hermione  Heriot !  Oh,  let  me  die ! '  Mrs.  Freddy 
leaned  against  the  blue-grey  sofa  for  a  moment  and  half  closed  her 
pretty  eyes.  The  next  instant  she  was  running  gaily  across  the 
room  to  welcome  Richard  Farnborough  and  Captain  Beeching. 
*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

'I  always  know,'  said  Lord  Borrodaile,  glancing  over  the  banis 
ters  as  he  and  Vida  went  down  —  '  I  always  know  the  kind  of 


THE   CONVERT  19 

party   it's    going   to   be    when   I   see  —  certain   people.     Don't 
you?' 

'I  know  who  you  mean,'  Vida  whispered  back,  her  eyes  on  Mrs. 
Graham  Townley's  aggressively  high-piled  hair  towering  over  the 
bald  pate  of  the  minister,  as,  side  by  side,  they  disappeared  through 
the  dining-room  door.  '  Why  does  Laura  have  her  ? ' 

'Well,  she's  immensely  intelligent,  they  say,'  he  sighed. 

1  That's  why  I  wonder,'  laughed  Vida.  '  We  are  rather  frivolous, 
I'm  afraid.' 

'To  tell  the  truth,  I  wondered,  too.  I  even  sounded  my  sister- 
in-law.' 

'Well?' 

'She  said  it  was  her  Day  of  Reckoning.  "I  never  ask  the 
woman,"  she  said,  "except  to  a  scratch  party  like  this." 

'" Scratch  party"  —with  you  and  me  here!' 

'Ah,  we  are  the  leaven.     We  make  the  compound  possible.' 

'Still,  I  don't  think  she  ought  to  call  it  " scratch"  when  she's 
got  an  Ambassador  and  a  Cabinet  Minister  — 

'Just  the  party  to  ask  a  scratch  Cabinet  Minister  to,'  he  insisted, 
stopping  between  the  two  cards  inscribed  respectively  with  their 
names.  'As  for  the  Ambassador,  he's  an  old  friend  of  ours  — 
knows  his  London  well  —  knows  we  are  the  most  tolerant  society 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.' 

In  spite  of  her  companion's  affectation  of  a  smiling  quarrel 
someness,  Vida  unfolded  her  table-napkin  with  the  air  of  one 
looking  forward  to  her  tete-a-tete  with  the  man  who  had  brought 
her  down.  But  Lord  Borrodaile  was  a  person  most  women  liked 
talking  to,  and  hardly  had  she  begun  to  relish  that  combination  in 
the  man  of  careless  pleasantry  and  pungent  criticism,  when  Vida 
caught  an  agonized  glance  from  her  hostess,  which  said  plainly, 
'Rescue  the  man  on  your  right,'  —  and  lo !  Miss  Levering  became 
aware  that  already,  before  the  poor  jaded  politician  had  swallowed 
his  soup,  Mrs.  Townley  had  fallen  to  catechising  him  about  the 
new  Bill  —  a  theme  talked  threadbare  by  newspaperdom  and  all 
political  England.  But  Mrs.  Townley,  albeit  not  exactly  old,  was 
one  of  those  old-fashioned  women  who  take  what  used  to  be  called 
'an  intelligent  interest  in  politics.'  You  may  pick  her  out  in 
any  drawing-room  from  the  fact  that  politicians  shun  her  like  the 
plague.  Rich,  childless,  lonely,  with  more  wits  than  occupation, 


20  THE   CONVERT 

practically  shelved  at  a  time  when  her  intellectual  life  is  most 
alert  —  the  Mrs.  Townleys  of  the  world  do,  it  must  be  admitted, 
labour  under  the  delusion  that  men  fighting  the  battle  of  public 
life,  go  out  to  dine  for  the  express  purpose  of  telling  the  intelligent 
female  'all  about  it.'  She  is  a  staunch  believer  not  so  much  in 
women's  influence  as  in  woman's.  And  there  is  no  doubt  in  her 
mind  which  woman's.  If  among  her  smart  relations  who  ask  her 
to  their  houses  and  go  to  hers  (from  that  sentiment  of  the  solidarity 
of  the  family  so  powerful  in  English  life),  if  amongst  these  sfie  suc 
ceeds  from  time  to  time  in  inducing  two  or  three  public  officials, 
or  even  private  members,  to  prove  how  good  a  cook  she  keeps,  she 
thinks  she  is  exercising  an  influence  on  the  politics  of  her  time.  Her 
form  of  conversation  consists  in  plying  her  victim  with  questions. 
Not  here  one  there  one,  to  keep  the  ball  rolling,  but  a  steady  and 
pitiless  fire  of  '  Do  you  think  ? '  and  '  Why  do  you  ? ' 

Obedient  to  her  hostess's  wireless  telegram,  Miss  Levering  bent 
her  head,  and  said  to  Mrs.  Townley's  neighbour  — 

'I  know  I  ought  not  to  talk  to  you  till  after  the  entree.' 

'Pray  do!'  said  Sir  William,  with  a  sudden  glint  in  his  little 

eyes;  and  then  with  a  burnt-child  air  of  caution,  'Unless ' 

he  began. 

'Oh,  you  make  conditions !'  said  Miss  Levering,  laughing. 

'  Only  one.  Promise  not '  —  he  lowered  his  voice  —  '  promise 
not  to  say  "Bill."' 

'I  won't  even  go  so  far  as  to  say  "William."' 

He  laughed  as  obligingly  as  though  the  jest  had  been  a  good 
one.  A  little  ashamed,  its  maker  hastened  to  leave  it  behind. 

'There's  nothing  I  should  quite  so  much  hate  talking  about  as 
politics  —  saving  your  presence.' 

'Ah!' 

'I  was  thinking  of  something  much  more  important/ 

Even  her  rallying  tone  did  not  wholly  reassure  the  poor  man. 

'More  important?'  he  repeated. 

'Yes;  I  long  to  know  (and  I  long  to  be  forgiven  for  asking), 
what  Order  that  is  you  are  wearing,  and  what  you  did  to  get 
it.' 

Haycroft  breathed  freely.  He  talked  for  the  next  ten  minutes 
about  the  bauble,  making  a  humorous  translation  of  its  Latin 
'posy,'  and  describing  in  the  same  vein  the  service  to  a  foreign 


THE   CONVERT  21 

state  that  had  won  him  the  recognition.  He  wouldn't  have  worn 
the  thing  to-night  except  out  of  compliment  to  the  ambassador 
from  the  Power  in  question.  They  were  going  on  together  to  the 
reception  at  the  Foreign  Office.  As  to  the  Order,  Haycroft  seemed 
to  feel  he  owed  it  to  himself  to  smile  at  all  such  toys,  but  he  did 
not  disdain  to  amuse  the  pretty  lady  with  the  one  in  question,  any 
more  than  being  humane  (and  even  genial  sitting  before  Mrs. 
Freddy's  menu),  he  would  have  refused  to  show  the  whirring  wheels 
of  his  watch  to  a  nice  child.  The  two  got  on  so  well  that  the  anxious 
look  quite  faded  out  of  Mrs.  Freddy's  face,  and  she  devoted  herself 
gaily  to  the  distinguished  foreigner  at  her  side.  But  Haycroft  at 
a  party  was,  like  so  many  Englishmen,  as  the  lilies  of  the  field. 
They  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin.  The  man  Vida  had  rescued 
from  Mrs.  Graham  Townley  was,  when  in  the  society  of  women, 
so  accustomed  to  seeing  them  take  on  themselves  the  onus  of 
entertainment,  was  himself  so  unused  to  being  at  the  smallest 
trouble,  that  when  the  'Order'  was  exhausted,  had  Vida  not  in 
vented  another  topic,  there  would  have  been  an  absolute  cessation 
of  all  converse  till  Mrs.  Graham  Townley  had  again  caught  him 
up  like  a  big  reluctant  fish  on  the  hook  of  interrogation.  At  a 
reproachful  aside  from  Lord  Borrodaile,  Miss  Levering  broke  off 
in  the  middle  of  her  second  subject  to  substitute,  'But  I  am  monop 
olizing  you  disgracefully,'  and  she  half  turned  away  from  the 
eminent  politician  into  whose  slightly  flushed  face  and  humid  eyes 
had  come  something  like  animation. 

'Not  at  all.     Not  at  all.     Go  on.' 

'No,  I've  gone  far  enough.  Do  you  realize  that  we  left  "  Orders  " 
and  "Honours "  half  an  hour  ago,  and  ever  since  we've  been  talking 
scandal  ? ' 

'Criticizing  life,'  he  amended  —  'a  pursuit  worthy  of  two 
philosophers.' 

'  I  did  it  — '  said  the  lady,  with  an  air  of  half-amused  discontent 
with  herself;  'you  know  why  I  did  it.' 

He  met  her  eye,  and  the  faint  motion  that  indicated  the  woman 
on  his  other  side.  'Terrible  person,'  he  whispered.  ''She  goes 
out  to  dine  as  a  soldier  goes  into  action.' 

For  the  next  few  minutes  they  made  common  cause  in  heaping 
ridicule  on  'the  political  woman.' 

' But,  after  all '  —  Vida  pulled  herself  up  —  'it  may  be  only  a 


22  THE   CONVERT 

case  of  sour  grapes  on  my  part.  I'm  afraid  my  conversation  is 
inclined  to  be  frivolous.' 

He  turned  and  gave  her  her  reward  —  the  feeling  smile  that 
says,  'Thank  God!'  But,  strangely,  it  did  not  reflect  itself  in  the 
woman's  face.  Something  quite  different  there,  lurking  under 
the  soft  gaiety.  Was  it  consciousness  of  this  being  the  second  time 
during  the  evening  that  she  had  employed  the  too  common  vaunt 
of  the  woman  of  that  particular  world?  Did  some  ironic  echo 
reach  her  of  that  same  boast  (often  as  mirthless  and  as  pitiful  as 
the  painted  smile  on  the  cruder  face),  the  'I'm  afraid  I'm  rather 
frivolous '  of  the  well-to-do  woman,  whose  frivolity  —  invaluable 
asset !  —  is  beginning  to  show  wear  ? 

1  Well,  to  return  to  our  mutton,'  he  said;  and,  as  his  companion 
seemed  suddenly  to  be  overtaken  by  some  unaccountable  qualm, 
'What  a  desert  life  would  be,'  he  added  encouragingly,  'if  we 
couldn't  talk  to  the  discreet  about  the  indiscreet.' 

'I  wonder  if  there  wouldn't  be  still  more  oases  in  the  desert,' 
she  said  idly,  'if  there  were  a  new  law  made ' 

He  glanced  at  her  with  veiled  apprehension  in  the  pause. 

'You  being  so  Liberal,'  she  went  on  with  faint  mockery,  'you're 
the  very  one  to  introduce  the  measure'  (he  shrank  visibly,  and 
seemed  about  to  remind  her  of  her  pledge).  'It  shall  ordain,'  she 
went  on,  'that  those  who  have  found  satisfactory  husbands  or 
wives  are  to  rest  content  with  their  good  fortune,  and  not  be  so 
greedy  as  to  insist  on  having  the  children,  too.' 

'  Oh  ! '     His  gravity  relaxed. 

'But,  on  the  other  hand,  all  the  lonely  women,  the  widows  and 
spinsters,  who  haven't  got  anything  else,  they  shall  have  the 
children.' 

'I  won't  go  so  far  as  that,'  he  laughed,  boundlessly  relieved  that 
the  conversation  was  not  taking  the  strenuous  turn  he  for  a  moment 
feared.  'But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  support  a  measure 
that  shall  make  an  allowance  of  one  child  to  every  single  woman 
the  proper  and  accepted  arrangement.  No  questions  asked,  and 
no  disgrace.' 

'  Disgrace ! '  she  echoed,  smiling.  '  On  the  contrary,  it  should 
be  the  woman's  title  to  honour !  She  should  be  given  a  beautiful 
Order  like  yours  for  service  to  the  State.' 

'Ah,  yes !     But,  what  then  would  we  talk  about?' 


THE   CONVERT  23 

She  had  turned  away  definitely  this  time. 

'Well,'  said  Borrodaile,  a  little  mocking,  'what  is  it?' 

'I  don't  know,'  she  answered.  'I  don't  know  what  it  is  that 
seizes  hold  of  me  after  I've  been  chattering  like  this  for  an  hour 
or  more.' 

Borrodaile  bent  his  head,  and  glanced  past  Vida  to  the  aban 
doned  minister. 

'Console  me  by  saying  a  slight  weariness.' 

'More  like  loathing.' 

'Not  of  both  your  neighbours,  I  hope.' 

He  lost  the  low  ' Of  myself.'  'But  there's  one  person,'  she  said, 
with  something  like  enthusiasm  — '  one  person  that  I  respect  and 
admire.' 

'  Oh ! '  He  glanced  about  the  board  with  an  air  of  lazy  interest. 
'Which  one?' 

'I  don't  know  her  name.  I  mean  the  woman  who  dares  to  sit 
quite  silent  and  eat  her  dinner  without  looking  like  a  lost  soul.' 

'I've  been  saying  you  could  do  that.' 

She  shook  her  head.  'No,  I've  been  engaged  for  the  last  hour 
in  proving  I  haven't  the  courage.  It's  just  come  over  me,'  she 
said,  her  eyes  in  their  turn  making  a  tour  of  the  table,  and  coming 
back  to  Borrodaile  with  the  look  of  having  caught  up  a  bran-new 
topic  on  the  way  —  'it's  just  come  over  me,  what  we're  all  doing.' 

'Are  we  all  doing  the  same  thing?' 

'All  the  men  are  doing  one  thing.     And  all  the  women  another.' 

His  idly  curious  look  travelled  up  and  down,  and  returned  to  her 
unenlightened. 

'All  the  women,'  she  said,  'are  trying  with  might  and  main  to 
amuse  the  men,  and  all  the  men  are  more  or  less  permitting  the 
women  to  succeed.' 

'I'm  sorry,'  he  said,  laughing,  'to  hear  of  your  being  so  over 
worked.' 

'Oh,  you  make  it  easy.  And  yet'  —  she  caught  the  gratitude 
away  from  her  voice  —  '  I  suppose  I  should  have  said  something 
like  that,  even  if  I'd  been  talking  to  my  other  neighbour.' 

Borrodaile's  look  went  again  from  one  couple  to  another,  for, 
as  usual  in  England,  the  talk  was  all  tete-a-tete.  The  result  of 
his  inspection  seemed  not  to  lend  itself  to  her  mood. 

*I  can't  speak  for  others,  but  for  myself,  I'm  always  conscious 


24  THE   CONVERT 

of  wanting  to  be  agreeable  when  I'm  with  you.  I'm  sorry'  —  he 
was  speaking  in  the  usual  half-genial,  half -jeering  tone — 'very 
sorry,  if  I  succeed  so  ill.' 

'I've  already  admitted  that  with  me  you  succeed  to  admiration. 
But  you  only  try  because  it's  easy.' 

'Oh!'  he  laughed. 

'You  rather  like  talking  to  me,  you  know.  Now,  can  you  lay 
your  hand  on  your  heart — • — ' 

'And  deny  it?    Never!' 

'  Can  you  lay  your  hand  on  your  heart,  and  say  you've  tried  as 
hard  to  entertain  your  other  neighbour  as  I  h^ve  to  keep  mine 
going?' 

'  Ah,  well,  we  men  aren't  as  good  at  it.  After  all,  it's  rather  the 
woman's  "part,"  isn't  it?' 

'  The  art  of  pleasing  ?  I  suppose  it  is  —  but  it's  rather  a  Geisha 
view  of  life,  don't  you  think?' 

'Not  at  all;  rightly  viewed,  it's  a  woman's  privilege  —  her 
natural  function.' 

'Then  the  brutes  are  nobler  than  we.' 

Wondering,  he  glanced  at  her.  The  face  was  wholly  reassuring, 
but  he  said,  with  a  faint  uneasiness  — 

'If  it  weren't  you,  I'd  say  that  sounds  a  little  bitter.' 

'Oh,  no,'  she  laughed.  'I  was  only  thinking  about  the  lion's 
mane  and  the  male  bird's  crest,  and  what  the  natural  history  bores 
say  they're  for.' 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  darkness  and  the  quiet  of  Vida  Levering's  bedroom  were 
rudely  dispelled  at  a  punctual  eight  each  morning  by  the  entrance 
of  a  gaunt  middle-aged  female. 

It  was  this  person's  unvarying  custom  to  fling  back  the  heavy 
curtains,  as  though  it  gratified  some  strong  recurrent  need  in  her, 
to  hear  brass  rings  run  squealing  along  a  bar;  as  if  she  counted 
that  day  lost  which  was  not  well  begun  —  by  shooting  the  blinds 
up  with  a  clatter  and  a  bang ! 

The  harsh  ceremonial  served  as  a  sort  of  setting  of  the  pace, 
or  a  metaphorical  shaking  of  a  bony  fist  in  the  face  of  the  day,  as 
much  as  to  say,  '  If  I  admit  you  here  you'll  have  to  toe  the  mark ! ' 

It  might  be  taken  as  proof  of  sound  nerves  that  the  lady  in  the 
bed  offered  no  remonstrance  at  being  jarred  awake  in  this  ungentle 
fashion. 

Fourteen  years  before,  when  Vida  Levering  was  only  eighteen, 
she  had  tried  to  make  something  like  a  conventional  maid  out  of 
the  faithful  Northumbrian.  Rachel  Wark  had  entered  Lady 
Levering's  service  just  before  Vida's  birth,  and  had  helped  to 
nurse  her  mistress  through  a  mortal  illness  ten  years  later.  After 
Sir  Hervey  Levering  lost  his  wife,  Wark  became  in  time  house 
keeper  and  genera"!  factotum  to  the  family.  This  arrangement 
held  without  a  break  until,  as  before  hinted,  Miss  Vida,  full  of 
the  hopeful  idealism  of  early  youth,  had  tried  and  ignominiously 
failed  in  her  attempt  to  teach  the  woman  gentler  manners. 

For  Wark's  characteristic  retort  had  been  to  pack  her  box  and 
go  to  spend  sixteen  months  among  her  kinsfolk,  where  energy  was 
accounted  a  virtue,  and  smooth  ways  held  in  suspicion.  At  the 
end  of  that  time,  seeming  to  judge  the  lesson  she  wished  to  impart 
had  been  sufficiently  digested,  Wark  wrote  to  Miss  Vida  proposing 
to  come  back.  For  some  months  she  waited  for  the  answer.  It 
came  at  last  from  Biarritz,  where  it  appeared  the  young  lady  was 
spending  the  winter  with  her  father.  After  an  exchange  of  letters 

25 


26  THE   CONVERT 

Wark  joined  them  there.  In  the  twelve  years  since  her  return  to 
the  family,  she  had  by  degrees  adapted  herself  to  the  task  of  look 
ing  after  her  young  lady.  The  adaptation  was  not  all  on  one  side. 
Many  of  Vida's  friends  wondered  that  she  could  put  up  with  a 
lady's  maid  who  could  do  so  few  of  the  things  commonly  expected 
of  that  accomplished  class. 

'I  don't  want  dressmaking  going  on  in  the  house,'  contentedly 
Vida  told  off  her  maid's  negative  qualifications,  'and  I  hate  having 
anybody  do  my  hair  for  me.  Wark  packs  quite  beautifully,  and 
then  I  do  like  some  one  about  me  —  that  I  like.' 

In  the  early  days  what  she  had  'liked'  most  about  the  woman 
was  that  Wark  had  known  and  been  attached  to  Lady  Levering. 
There  was  no  one  else  with  whom  Vida  could  talk  about  her  mother. 

By  the  time  death  overtook  Sir  Hervey  two  winters  ago  in  Rome, 
Wark  had  become  so  essential  a  part  of  Vida's  little  entourage, 
that  one  of  the  excuses  offered  by  that  lady  for  not  going  to  live 
with  her  half-sister  in  London  had  been  —  'Wark  doesn't  always 
get  on  with  other  servants.'  For  several  years  Miss  Levering's 
friends  had  been  speaking  of  her  as  one  fallen  a  victim  to  that 
passion  for  Italy  that  makes  it  an  abiding  place  dearer  than  home 
to  so  many  English-born.  But  the  half-sister,  Mrs.  Fox-Moore, 
had  not  been  misled  either  by  that  theory  or  by  the  difficulty  as  to 
pleasing  Wark  with  the  Queen  Anne's  Gate  servants.  'It's  not 
that  Vida  loves  Italy  so  much  as  that,  for  some  reason,  she  doesn't 
love  England  at  all.'  Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  after  some 
months  had  persuaded  her  to  'bring  Wark  and  try  us.' 

The  experiment,  now  over  a  year  old,  seemed  to  have  turned 
out  well.  If  Vida  really  did  not  love  her  native  land,  she  seemed 
to  enjoy  well  enough  what  she  called  smiling  'the  St.  Martin's 
Summer'  of  her  success  in  London  society. 

She  turned  over  in  her  bed  on  this  particular  May  morning, 
stretching  out  her  long  figure,  and  then  letting  it  sink  luxuriously 
back  into  relaxed  quiescence  with  a  conscious  joy  in  prolonging 
those  last  ten  minutes  when  sleep  is  slowly,  softly,  one  after  another, 
withdrawing  her  thousand  veils. 

Vaguely,  as  she  lay  there  with  face  half  buried  in  her  pillow, 
vaguely  she  was  aware  that  Wark  was  making  even  more  noise 
than  common. 


THE   CONVERT  27 

When  the  woman  had  bustled  in  and  bustled  out  several  times, 
and  deposited  the  shoes  with  a  'dump,'  she  reappeared  with  the 
delicate  porcelain  tray  that  bore  the  early  tea.  On  the  little  table 
close  to  where  the  dark  head  lay  half  hidden,  Wark  set  the  fragile 
burden  down  —  did  it  with  an  emphasis  that  made  cup  and  saucer 
shiver  and  run  for  support  towards  the  round-bellied  pot. 

Vida  opened  her  heavy-lidded  eyes.  'Really,  Wark,  you  know, 
nobody  on  earth  would  let  you  wake  them  in  the  morning  except 
me.'  She  sat  up  and  pulled  the  pillow  higher.  'Give  me  the 
tray  here,'  she  said  sleepily. 

Wark  obeyed.  She  had  said  nothing  to  Vida's  reproof.  She 
stood  now  by  the  bedside  without  a  trace  of  either  contrition  or 
resentment  in  the  wooden  face  that  seemed,  in  recompense  for 
never  having  been  young,  to  be  able  successfully  to  defy  the  'antique 
pencil.'  Time  had  made  but  one  or  two  faint  ineffectual  scratches 
there,  as  one  who  tries,  and  then  abandons,  an  unpromising  sur 
face.  The  lack  of  record  in  the  face  lent  it  something  almost 
cryptic.  If  there  were  no  laughter-wrought  lines  about  the  eyes, 
neither  was  there  mark  of  grief  or  self-repression  near  the  mouth. 
She  would,  you  felt,  defy  Time  as  successfully  as  she  defied  lesser 
foes.  Even  the  lank,  straw-coloured  hair  hardly  showed  the 
streaks  of  yellow-white  that  offered  their  unemphatic  clue  to  Wark's 
age. 

The  sensitive  face  of  the  woman  in  the  bed  —  even  now  with 
something  of  the  peace  of  sleep  still  shadowing  its  brilliancy  — 
gave  by  contrast  an  impression  of  vividness  and  eager  sympathies. 
The  mistress,  too,  looked  younger  than  her  years.  She  did  not 
seem  to  wonder  at  the  dull  presence  that  seemed  to  be  held  there, 
prisoner-like,  behind  the  brass  bars  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Wark 
sometimes  gave  herself  this  five  minutes'  tete-a-tete  with  her  mis 
tress  before  the  business  of  the  day  began  and  all  their  intercourse 
was  swamped  in  clothes. 

'I  meant  to  pin  a  paper  on  the  door  to  say  I  wasn't  to  be  called 
till  ten,'  said  the  lady,  as  though  keeping  up  the  little  pretence  of 
not  being  pleased. 

'Didn't  you  sleep  well,  'm?'  The  maid  managed  wholly  to 
denude  the  question  of  its  usual  grace  of  solicitude. 

'  Yes ;  but  it  was  so  late  when  I  began.  We  didn't  get  back  till 
nearly  three.' 


28  THE   CONVERT 

*  I  didn't  get  much  sleep,  either.'  It  was  an  unheard-of  admission 
from  Wark. 

'Oh  !'  said  Vida,  lazily  sipping  her  tea.     'Bad  conscience?' 

'No,'  she  said  slowly,  'no.' 

As  the  woman  raised  her  light  eyes,  Miss  Levering  saw,  to  her 
astonishment,  that  the  lids  were  red.  Wark,  too,  seemed  uncom 
fortably  aware  of  something  unusual  in  her  face,  for  she  turned  it 
away,  and  busied  herself  in  smoothing  down  the  near  corner  of  the 
bath  blanket. 

'What  kept  you  awake?'  Miss  Levering  asked. 

'Well,  I  suppose  I'd  better  tell  you  while  the  other  people  aren't 
round.  I  want  a  day  or  two  to  go  into  the  country.' 

'Into  the  country?'  No  such  request  had  been  heard  for  a 
round  dozen  of  years. 

'I've  got  some  business  to  see  to.' 

'At  home?    In  Northumberland?' 

'No.' 

The  tone  seemed  so  little  to  promise  anything  in  the  nature  of  a 
confidence  that  Miss  Levering  merely  said  — 

'Oh,  very  well.     When  do  you  want  to  go?' 

'I  could  go  to-morrow  if '  She  stopped,  and  looked  down 

at  the  hem  of  her  long  white  apron. 

Something  unwonted  in  the  wooden  face  prompted  Miss  Lever 
ing  to  say  — 

'What  do  you  want  to  do  in  the  country?' 

'To  see  about  a  place  that's  been  offered  me.' 

1 A  place,  Wark!' 

'Yes;  post  of  housekeeper.  That's  what  I  really  am,  you 
know.' 

Miss  Levering  looked  at  her,  and  set  down  the  half -finished  cup 
without  opening  her  lips.  If  the  speech  had  come  from  any  other 
than  Wark,  it  would  have  been  easy  to  believe  it  merely  the  prelude 
to  complaint  of  a  fellow-servant  or  plea  for  a  rise  in  wages.  But  if 
Wark  objected  to  a  fellow-servant,  her  own  view  of  the  matter  had 
always  been  that  the  other  one  should  go.  Her  mistress  knew  quite 
well  that  in  the  mouth  of  the  woman  standing  there  with  red  eyes 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  such  an  announcement  as  had  just  been 
made,  meant  more.  And  the  consciousness  seemed  to  bring  with 
it  a  sense  of  acute  discomfort  not  unmixed  with  anger.  For  there 


THE   CONVERT  29 

was  a  threat  of  something  worse  than  an  infliction  of  mere  incon 
venience.  It  was  a  species  of  desertion.  It  was  almost  treachery. 
They  had  lived  together  all  the  younger  woman's  life,  except  for 
those  two  years  that  followed  on  the  girl's  attempt  to  make  a  con 
ventional  servant  out  of  a  creature  who  couldn't  be  that,  but  who 
had  it  in  her  to  be  more. 

They  had  been  too  long  together  for  Wark  not  to  divine  some 
thing  —  through  all  the  lady's  self-possession  —  of  her  sense  of 
being  abandoned. 

'It's  having  to  tell  you  that  that  kept  me  awake.' 

The  wave  of  dull  colour  that  mounted  up  to  the  bushy,  straw- 
coloured  eyebrows  seemed  on  the  way  to  have  overflowed  into  her 
eyes.  They  grew  redder  than  before,  and  slowly  they  filled. 

'You  don't  like  living  here  in  this  house.'  Vida  caught  at  the 
old  complication. 

'I've  got  used  to  it,'  the  woman  said  baldly.  Then,  after  a 
little  pause,  during  which  she  made  a  barely  audible  rasping  to 
clear  her  throat,  'I  don't  like  leaving  you,  miss.  I  always  remem 
ber  how,  that  time  before  —  the  only  time  I  was  ever  away  from 
you  since  you  was  a  baby  —  how  different  I  found  you  when  I 
came  back.' 

'Different,  Wark?' 

'Yes,  miss.  It  seemed  like  you'd  turned  into  somebody 
else.' 

'  Most  people  change  —  develope  —  in  those  years  just  before 
twenty.' 

'Not  like  you  did,  miss.  You  gave  me  a  deal  of  trouble  when 
you  was  little,  but  it  nearly  broke  my  heart  to  come  back  and  find 
you  so  quieted  down  and  wise-like.' 

A  flash  of  tears  glimmered  in  the  mistress's  eyes,  though  her  lips 
were  smiling. 

'Of  course,'  the  maid  went  on,  'though  you  never  told  me  about 
it,  I  know  you  had  things  to  bear  while  I  was  away,  or  else  you 
wouldn't  have  gone  away  from  your  home  that  time  —  a  mere 
child  —  and  tried  to  teach  for  a  living.' 

'It  was  absurd  of  me!  But  whosever  fault  it  was,  it  wasn't 
yours.' 

'Yes,  miss,  in  a  way  it  was.  I  owed  it  to  your  mother  not  to 
have  left  you.  I've  never  told  you  how  I  blamed  myself  when  I 


3o  THE   CONVERT 

heard  —  and  I  didn't  wonder  at  you.     It  was  hard  when  your 
mother  was  hardly  cold  to  see  your  father ' 

'Yes;  now  that's  enough,  Wark.  You  know  we  never  speak  of 
that.' 

'No,  we've  never  spoken  about  it.  And,  of  course,  you  won't 
need  me  any  more  like  you  did  then.  But  it's  looking  bark  and 
remembering  —  it's  that  that's  making  it  so  hard  to  leave  you 
now.  But ' 

'Well?' 

'My  friends  have  been  talking  to  me.' 

'About ' 

'Yes,  this  post.'  Then,  almost  angrily,  'I  didn't  try  for  it. 
It's  come  after  me.  My  cousin  knows  the  man.' 

'  The  man  who  wants  you  to  go  to  him  as  housekeeper  ? '  Vida 
wrinkled  her  brows.  Wark  hadn't  said  'gentleman,'  who  alone 
in  her  employer's  experience  had  any  need  of  a  housekeeper.  'You 
mean  you  don't  know  him  yourself?' 

'Not  yet,  'm.  I  know  he's  a  market  gardener,  and  he  wants 
his  house  looked  after.' 

'What  if  he  does?  A  market  gardener  won't  be  able  to  pay 
the  wages  I ' 

'The  wages  aren't  much  to  begin  with  —  but  he's  getting  along 
—  except  for  the  housekeeping.  That's  in  a  bad  way.' 

'What  if  it  is?  I  never  heard  such  nonsense.  You  don't  want 
to  leave  me,  Wark,  for  a  market  gardener  you've  never  so  much  as 
seen ; '  and  Miss  Levering  covered  her  discomfort  by  a  little  smiling. 

'My  cousin's  seen  him  many  a  time.     She  likes  him.' 

'Let  your  cousin  go,  then,  and  keep  his  house  for  him.' 

'My  cousin  has  her  own  house  to  k^ep,  and  she's  got  a  young 
baby.' 

'Oh,  the  woman  who  brought  her  child  here  once?' 

'Yes,  'm,  the  child  you  gave  the  coral  beads  to.  My  cousin  has 
written  and  talked  about  it  ever  since.' 

'About  the  beads?' 

'  About  the  market  gardener.  And  the  way  his  house  is  — 
Ever  since  we  came  back  to  England  she's  been  going  on  at  me 
about  it.  I  told  her  all  along  I  couldn't  leave  you,  but  she's 
always  said  (since  that  day  you  walked  about  with  the  baby  and 
gave  him  the  beads  to  play  with,  and  wouldn't  let  her  make  him 


THE   CONVERT  31 

cry  by  taking  them  away)  —  ever  since  then  my  cousin  has  said 
you'd  understand.' 

'  What  would  I  understand  ? ' 

Wark  laid  her  hand  on  the  nearest  of  the  shining  bars  of  brass, 
and  slowly  she  polished  it  with  her  open  palm.  She  obviously 
found  it  difficult  to  go  on  with  her  defence. 

'I  wanted  my  cousin  to  come  and  explain  to  you.' 

Here  was  Wark  in  a  new  light  indeed !  If  she  really  wanted 
any  creature  on  the  earth  to  speak  for  her.  As  she  stood  there  in 
stolid  embarrassment  polishing  the  shiny  bar,  Miss  Levering 
clutched  the  tray  to  steady  it,  and  with  the  other  hand  she  pulled 
the  pillow  higher.  One  had  to  sit  bolt  upright,  it  seemed,  and  give 
this  matter  one's  entire  attention. 

'  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  your  cousin  about  your  affairs.  We  are 
old  friends,  Wark.  Tell  me  yourself.' 

She  forced  her  eyes  to  meet  her  mistress's.  'He  told  my  cousin : 
"Just  you  find  me  a  good  housekeeper,"  he  said,  "and  if  I  like 
her,"  he  said,  "she  won't  be  my  housekeeper  long."' 

'Wark!     You!    You  aren't  thinking  of  marrying?' 

'  If  he's  what  my  cousin  says  — 

'A  man  you've  never  seen  ?  Oh,  my  dear  Wark !  Well,  I  shall 
hope  and  pray  he  won't  think  your  housekeeping  good  enough.' 

'He  will !  From  what  my  cousin  says,  he's  had  a  run  of  worth 
less  huzzies.  I  don't  expect  he'll  find  much  fault  with  my  house 
keeping  after  what  he's  been  through.' 

Vida  looked  wondering  at  the  triumphant  face  of  the  woman. 

'And  so  you're  ready  to  leave  me  after  all  these  years?' 

'No,  miss,  I'm  not  to  say  "ready,"  but  I  think  I'll  have  to  go.' 

'  My  poor  old  Wark '  —  the  lady  leaned  over  the  tray  —  '  I  could 
almost  think  you  are  in  love  with  this  man  you've  only  heard  about ! ' 

'No,  miss,  I'm  not  to  say  in  love.' 

'  I  believe  you  are !  For  what  other  reason  would  you  have  for 
leaving  me?' 

The  woman  looked  as  if  she  could  show  cause  had  she  a  mind. 
But  she  said  nothing. 

'You  know,'  Vida  pursued — 'you  know  quite  well  you  don't 
need  to  marry  for  a  home.' 

'No,  'm;  I'm  quite  comfortable,  of  course,  with  you.  But  time 
goes  on.  I  don't  get  younger.' 


32  THE   CONVERT 

'None  of  us  do  that,  Wark.' 

'  That's  just  the  trouble,  miss.     It  ain't  only  me.' 

Vida  looked  at  her,  more  perplexed  than  ever  by  the  curious 
regard  in  the  hard-featured  countenance.  For  there  was  some 
thing  very  like  dumb  reproach  in  Wark's  face. 

'Still,'  said  Miss  Levering,  'you  know,  even  if  none  of  us  do  get 
younger,  we  are  not  any  of  us  (to  judge  by  appearances)  on  the 
brink  of  the  grave.  Even  if  I  should  be  smashed  up  in  a  motor 
accident  —  I  know  you're  always  expecting  that  —  even  if  I  were 
killed  to-morrow,  still  you'd  find  I  hadn't  forgotten  you,  Wark.' 

'It  isn't  that,  miss.     It  isn't  death  I'm  afraid  of.' 

There  was  a  pause  —  the  longest  that  yet  had  come. 

'What  are  you  afraid  of?'  Miss  Levering  asked. 

'It's  —  you  see,  I've  been  looking  these  twelve  years  to  see  you 
married.' 

'Me?    What's  that  got  to  do  with ' 

'Yes,  miss.  You  see,  I've  counted  a  good  while  on  looking  after 
children  again  some  day.  But  if  you  won't  get  married  — 

Vida  flung  her  hair  back  with  a  burst  of  not  very  merry  laughter. 

'If  I  won't,  you  must!  But  why  in  the  world?  I'd  no  idea 
you  were  so  romantic.  Why  must  there  be  a  wedding  in  the 
family,  Wark?' 

'So  there  can  be  children,  miss,'  said  the  woman,  stolidly. 

'Well,  there  is  a  child.     There's  Doris.' 

'Poor  Miss  Doris!'  The  woman  shook  her  head.  'But  she's 
got  a  good  nurse.  I  say  it,  though  she  calls  advice  interfering. 
And  Miss  Doris  has  got  a  mother'  (plain  that  Wark  was  again  in 
the  market  garden).  'Yes,  she's  got  a  mother!  and  a  sort  of  a 
father,  and  she's  got  a  governess,  and  a  servant  to  carry  her  about. 
I  sometimes  think  what  Miss  Doris  needs  most  is  a  little  letting 
alone.  Leastways,  she  don't  need  me.  No,  nor  you,  miss.' 

'And  you've  given  me  up?'  the  mistress  probed. 

Wark  raised  her  red  eyes.  '  Of  course,  miss,  if  I'm  wrong ' 

Her  knuckly  hand  slid  down  from  the  brass  bar,  and  she  came 
round  to  the  side  of  the  bed  with  an  unmistakable  eagerness  in 
her  face.  'If  you're  going  to  get  married,  I  don't  see  as  I  could 
leave  ye.' 

The  lady's  lips  twitched  with  an  instant's  silent  laughter,  but 
there  was  something  else  than  laughter  in  her  eyes. 


THE   CONVERT  33 

'Oh,  I  can  buy  you  off,  can  I ?  If  I  give  you  my  word  —  if  to 
save  you  from  need  to  try  the  great  experiment,  I'll  sacrifice 
myself.  — 

'I  wouldn't  like  to  see  you  make  a  sacrifice,  miss,'  Wark  said, 
with  perfect  gravity.  'But'  —  as  though  reconsidering — 'you 
wouldn't  feel  it  so  much,  I  dare  say,  after  the  child  was  there.' 

They  looked  at  one  another. 

*  If  it's  children  you  yearn  for,  my  poor  Wark,  you've  waited  too 
long,  I'm  afraid.' 

'Oh,  no,  miss.'     She  spoke  with  a  fatuous  confidence. 

'Why,  you  must  be  fifty.' 

'Fifty-three,  miss.  But'  —  she  met  her  mistress's  eye  un 
flinching  —  '  Bunting  —  he's  the  market  gardener  —  he's  been 
married  before.  He's  got  three  girls  and  two  boys.' 

'  Heavens  ! '  Vida  fell  back  against  the  pillow.  '  What  a  hand 
ful!' 

'Oh,  no,  'm.  My  cousin  says  they're  nice  children.'  It  would 
have  been  funny  if  it  hadn't  somehow  been  pathetic  to  see  how 
instantly  she  was  on  the  defensive.  '"Healthy  and  hearty,"  my 
cousin  says,  all  but  the  little  one.  She  hardly  thinks  they'll  raise 
him.' 

'Well,  I  wish  your  market  gardener  had  confined  himself  to 
raising  onions  and  cabbages.  If  he  hadn't  those  children  I  don't 
believe  you'd  dream  of ' 

'Well,  of  course  not,  miss.  But  it  seems  like  those  children 
need  some  one  to  look  after  them  more  than  —  more  than  — 

'Than  I  do?    That  ought  to  be  true.' 

'One  of  'em  is  little  more  than  a  baby.'  The  wooden  woman 
offered  it  as  an  apology. 

'Take  the  tray,'  said  Vida. 

From  the  look  on  her  face  you  would  say  she  knew  she  had  lost 
the  faithfullest  of  servants,  and  that  five  little  children  somewhere 
in  a  market  garden  had  won,  if  not  a  mother,  at  least  a  doughty 
champion. 


CHAPTER  IV 

No  matter  how  late  either  Vida  Levering  or  her  half-sister  had 
gone  to  bed  the  night  before,  they  breakfasted,  as  they  did  so  many 
other  things,  at  the  hour  held  to  be  most  advantageous  for  Doris. 

Mr.  Fox-Moore  was  sometimes  there  and  often  not.  On  those 
mornings  when  his  health  or  his  exertions  the  night  previous  did 
not  prevent  his  appearance,  there  was  little  conversation  at  the 
Fox-Moore  breakfast  table,  except  such  as  was  initiated  by  the 
only  child  of  the  marriage,  a  fragile  girl  of  ten.  Little  Doris, 
owing  to  some  obscure  threat  of  hip-disease,  made  much  of  her 
progress  about  the  house  in  a  footman's  arms.  But  hardly,  so 
borne,  would  she  reach  the  threshold  of  the  breakfast  room  before 
her  thin  little  voice  might  be  heard  calling  out, '  Frz-ther !  Fa-trier ! ' 

Those  who  held  they  had  every  ground  for  disliking  the  old  man 
would  have  been  surprised  to  watch  him  during  the  half  hour  that 
ensued,  ministering  to  the  rather  querulous  little  creature,  adapting 
his  tone  and  view  to  her  comprehension,  with  an  art  that  plainly 
took  its  inspiration  from  affection.  If  Doris  were  not  well  enough 
to  come  down,  Mr.  Fox-Moore  read  his  letters  and  glanced  at 
'the'  paper,  directing  his  few  remarks  to  his  sister-in-law,  whom 
he  sometimes  treated  in  such  a  way  as  would  have  given  a  stranger 
the  impression,  in  spite  of  the  lady's  lack  of  response,  that  there 
was  some  secret  understanding  between  the  two. 

A  great  many  years  before,  Donald  Fox-Moore  had  tumbled 
into  a  Government  office,  the  affairs  of  which  he  had  ultimately 
got  into  such  excellent  running  order,  that,  with  a  few  hours' 
supervision  from  the  chief  each  week,  his  clerks  were  easily  able 
to  maintain  the  high  reputation  of  that  particular  department  of 
the  public  service.  What  Mr.  Fox-Moore  did  with  the  rest  of 
his  time  was  little  known.  A  good  deal  of  it  was  spent  with  a 
much  younger  bachelor  brother  near  Brighton.  At  least,  this  was 
the  family  legend.  In  spite  of  his  undoubted  affection  for  his 
child,  little  of  his  leisure  was  wasted  at  home.  When  people  looked 
at  the  sallow,  smileless  face  of  his  wife  they  didn't  blame  him. 

34 


THE   CONVERT  35 

Sometimes,  when  a. general  sense  of  tension  and  anxiety  betrayed 
his  presence  somewhere  in  the  great  dreary  house,  and  the  master 
yet  forbore  to  descend  for  the  early  meal,  he  would  rejoice  the 
heart  of  his  little  daughter  by  having  her  brought  to  his  room  to 
make  tea  and  share  his  breakfast. 

On  these  occasions  a  sense  of  such  unexpected  surcease  from 
care  prevailed  in  the  dining-room  as  called  for  some  celebration 
of  the  holiday  spirit.  It  found  expression  in  the  inclination  of  the 
two  women  to  linger  over  their  coffee,  embracing  the  only  sure 
opportunity  the  day  offered  for  confidential  exchange. 

One  of  these  occasions  was  the  morning  of  Wark's  warning, 
which,  however,  Vida  determined  to  say  nothing  about  till  she  was 
obliged.  She  had  just  handed  up  her  cup  for  replenishing  when 
the  door  opened,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  the  ladies,  the  master  of 
the  house  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

'Is  —  is  anything  the  matter ? '  faltered  his  wife,  half  rising. 

'Matter?  Must  something  be  the  matter  that  I  venture  into 
my  own  breakfast-room  of  a  morning  ? ' 

'No,  no.  Only  I  thought,  as  Doris  didn't  come,  you  were 
breakfasting  upstairs,  too.'  No  notice  being  taken  of  this,  she  at 
once  set  about  heating  water,  for  no  one  expected  Mr.  Fox-Moore 
to  drink  tea  made  in  the  kitchen. 

'I  thought,'  said  he,  twitching  an  open  newspaper  off  the  table 
and  folding  it  up  —  'I  thought  I  asked  to  be  allowed  the  privilege 
of  opening  my  paper  for  myself.' 

'Your  Times  hasn't  been  touched,'  said  his  wife,  anxiously 
occupied  with  the  spirit-lamp. 

He  stopped  in  the  act  of  thrusting  the  paper  in  his  pocket  and 
shook  it. 

'What  do  you  call  this?' 

'That  is  my  Times ^  she  said. 

'Your  Times?' 

'I  ordered  an  extra  copy,  because  you  dislike  so  to  have  yours 
looked  at  till  you've  finished  with  it.' 

'Dreadful  hardship  that  is !'  he  said,  glancing  round,  and  seeing 
his  own  particular  paper  neatly  folded  and  lying  still  on  the  side 
table. 

'  It  was  no  great  hardship  when  you  read  it  before  night.  When 
you  don't,  it's  rather  long  to  wait.' 


36  THE   CONVERT 

'To  wait  for  what?' 
'For  the  news  of  the  day.' 

'Don't  you  get  the  news  of  the  day  in  the  Morning  Post?' 
'I  don't   get   such  full  Parliamentary  reports  nor   the  foreign 
correspondence. ' 

'  Good  Lord  !  what  next  ? ' 

'I  think  you  must  blame  me,'  said  Vida,  speaking  for  the  first 
time.  'I'm  afraid  you'll  find  it's  only  since  I've  been  here  that 
Janet  has  broken  loose  and  taken  in  an  extra  copy.' 

'Oh,  it's  on  your  account,  is  it?'  he  grumbled,  but  the  edge  had 
gone  out  of  his  ill-humour.  '  I  suppose  you  have  to  keep  up  with 
politics  or  you  couldn't  keep  the  ball  rolling  as  you  did  last  night  ?' 

'Yes,'  said  Vida,  with  an  innocent  air.  'It  is  well  known  what 
superhuman  efforts  we  have  to  make  before  we  can  qualify  our 
selves  to  talk  to  men.' 

'Hm  !'  grumbled  Fox-Moore.     'I  never  saw  you  at  a  loss.' 

'You  did  last  night.' 

'No,  I  didn't.  I  saw  you  getting  on  like  a  house  afire  with 
Haycroft  and  the  beguiling  Borrodaile.  It's  a  pity  all  the  decent 
men  are  married.' 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  allowed  her  own  coffee  to  get  cold  while  she 
hovered  over  the  sacred  rite  of  scientific  tea-making.  Mr.  Fox- 
Moore,  talking  to  Vida  about  the  Foreign  Office  reception,  to 
which  they  had  all  gone  on  after  the  Tunbridges'  dinner,  kept 
watching  with  a  kind  of  half-absentminded  scorn  his  wife's  fussily 
punctilious  pains  to  prepare  the  brew  'his  way.'  When  all  was 
ready  and  the  tea  steaming  on  its  way  to  him  in  the  hands  of  its 
harassed  maker,  he  curtly  declined  it,  got  up,  and  left  the  room. 
A  moment  after,  the  shutting  of  the  front  door  announced  the 
beginning  of  yet  another  of  the  master's  absences. 

'  How  can  you  stand  it  ? '  said  Vida,  under  her  breath. 

'  Oh,  I  don't  mind  his  going  away,'  said  the  other,  dully. 

'No;  but  his  coming  back!' 

'  One  of  the  things  I'm  grateful  to  Donald  for '  —  she  spoke  as 
if  there  were  plenty  more  —  'he  is  very  good  to  you,  Vida.'  And 
in  her  tone  there  was  criticism  of  the  beneficiary. 

'You  mean,  he's  not  as  rude  to  me  as  he  is  to  you?' 

'He  is  even  forbearing.  And  you  —  you  rather  frighten  me 
sometimes.' 


THE   CONVERT  37 

'I  see  that.' 

'It  would  be  very  terrible  for  me  if  he  took  it  into  his  head  not 
to  like  you.' 

'If  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  forbid  your  having  me  here,  you 
mean.' 

'But  even  when  you  aren't  polite  he  just  laughs.  Still,  he's  not 
a  patient  man.' 

'  Do  you  think  you  have  to  tell  me  that  ? ' 

'No,  dear,  only  to  remind  you  not  to  try  him  too  far.  For  my 
sake,  Vida,  don't  ever  do  that.' 

She  put  out  her  yellow,  parchment-like  hand,  and  her  sister 
closed  hers  over  it  an  instant. 

'Here's  the  hot  milk,'  said  Vida.  'Now  we'll  have  some  more 
coffee.' 

'Are  you  coming  with  me  to-day?'  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  asked  quite 
cheerfully  for  her  as  the  servant  shut  the  door. 

'Oh,  is  this  Friday?  N  —  no.'  The  younger  woman  looked 
at  the  chill  grey  world  through  the  window,  and  followed  up  the 
hesitating  negative  with  a  quite  definite,  'I  couldn't  stand  slums 
to-day.'  The  two  exchanged  the  look  that  means,  'Here  we  are 
again  up  against  this  recurring  difference.'  But  there  was  no  ill- 
humour  in  either  face  as  their  eyes  met. 

Between  these  two  daughters  of  one  father  existed  that  sort  of 
haunting  family  resemblance  often  seen  between  two  closely  related 
persons,  despite  one  being  attractive  and  the  other  in  some  way 
repellent.  The  observer  traces  the  same  lines  in  each  face,  the 
same  intensification  of  'the  family  look'  in  the  smile,  and  yet 
knows  that  the  slight  disparity  in  age  fails  to  account  for  a  differ 
ence  wide  as  the  poles. 

And  not  alone  difference  of  taste,  of  environment  and  experi 
ence,  not  these  alone  make  up  the  sum  of  their  unlikeness.  You 
had  only  to  look  from  the  fresh  simplicity  of  white  muslin  blouse 
and  olive-coloured  cloth  in  the  one  case,  to  the  ungainly  expensive- 
ness  of  the  black  silk  gown  of  the  married  woman,  in  order  to  get 
from  the  first  a  sense  of  dainty  morning  freshness,  and  from  Mrs. 
Fox-Moore  not  alone  a  lugubrious  memento  mori  sort  of  impression, 
but  that  more  disquieting  reminder  of  the  ugly  and  over-elaborate 
thing  life  is  to  many  an  estimable  soul.  Janet  Fox-Moore  had  the 
art  of  rubbing  this  dark  fact  in  till,  so  to  speak,  the  black  came  off. 


38  THE   CONVERT 

She  seemed  to  achieve  it  partly  by  dint  of  wearing  (instead  of  any 
relief  of  lace  or  even  of  linen  at  her  throat)  a  hard  band  of  that 
passementerie  secretly  so  despised  of  the  little  Tunbridges.  This 
device  did  not  so  much  'finish  off'  the  neck  of  Mrs.  Fox-Moore's 
gowns,  as  allow  the  funereal  dulness  of  them  to  overflow  on  to  her 
brown  neck.  It  even  cast  an  added  shadow  on  her  sallow  cheek. 
The  figure  of  the  older  woman,  gaunt  and  thin  enough,  announced 
the  further  constriction  of  the  corset.  By  way  of  revenge  the  sharp 
shoulder-blades  poked  the  corset  out  till  it  defined  a  ridge  in  the 
black  silk  back.  In  front,  too,  the  slab-like  figure  declined  co 
operation  with  the  corset,  and  withdrew,  leaving  a  hiatus  that  the 
silk  bodice  clothed  though  it  did  not  conceal.  You  could  not  have 
told  whether  the  other  woman  wore  that  ancient  invention  for  a 
figure  insufficient  or  over-exuberant.  As  you  followed  her  move 
ments,  easy  with  the  ease  of  a  child,  while  she  walked  or  stooped 
or  caught  up  the  fragile  Doris,  or  raised  her  arm  to  take  a  book  from 
the  shelf,  you  got  an  impression  of  a  physique  in  perfect  because 
unconscious  harmony  with  its  environment.  If,  on  the  contrary, 
you  watched  but  so  much  as  the  nervous,  uncertain  hand  of  the 
other  woman,  you  would  know  here  was  one  who  had  spent  her 
years  in  alternately  grasping  the  nettle  and  letting  it  go  —  reaping 
only  stings  in  life's  fair  fields.  Easy  for  any  one  seeing  her  in  these 
days  (though  she  wasn't  thirty-six)  to  share  Mrs.  Freddy's  incredu 
lous  astonishment  at  hearing  from  Haycroft  the  night  before  that 
Janet  Levering  had  been  'the  beauty  of  her  family.'  Mrs. 
Freddy's  answer  had  been,  'Oh,  don't  make  fun  of  her!'  and 
Haycroft  had  had  to  assure  her  of  his  seriousness,  while  the  little 
hostess  still  stared  uncertain. 

'The  lines  of  her  face  are  rather  good,'  she  admitted.  ' Oh,  but 
those  yellow  and  pink  eyes,  and  her  general  muddiness ! ' 

'Yes,  yes,'  Sir  William  had  agreed.  'She's  changed  so  that  I 
would  never  have  known  her,  but  her  colouring  used  to  be  her 
strong  point.  I  assure  you  she  was  magnificent  —  oh,  much  more 
striking  than  the  younger  sister ! ' 

The  bloodless-looking  woman  who  sat  uneasily  at  her  own 
board  clutching  at  a  thin  fragment  of  cold  dry  toast  that  hung 
cheerlessly  awry  in  the  silver  rack,  like  the  last  brown  leaf  to  a 
frosty  tree,  while  she  crunched  the  toast,  spoke  dryly  of  the  poor; 
of  how  'interesting  many  of  them  are;'  how  when  you  take  the 


THE   CONVERT  39 

trouble  to  understand  them,  you  no  longer  lump  them  all  together 
in  a  featureless  misery,  you  realize  how  significant  and  varied  are 
their  lives. 

'Not  half  as  significant  and  varied  as  their  smells,'  said  her 
unchastened  sister. 

'Oh,  you  sometimes  talk  as  if  you  had  no  heart!' 

'The  trouble  is,  I  have  no  stomach.  When  you've  lured  me 
into  one  of  those  dingy  alleys  and  that  all-pervading  greasy  smell 
of  poverty  comes  flooding  into  my  face  —  well,  simply  all  my  most 
uncharitable  feelings  rise  up  in  revolt.  I  want  to  hold  my  nose 
and  hide  my  eyes,  and  call  for  the  motor-car.  Running  away  isn't 
fast  enough,'  she  said,  with  energy  and  a  sudden  spark  in  her 
golden-brown  eye. 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  poised  the  fat  silver  jug  over  her  own  belated 
cup,  and  waited  for  the  thick  cream  to  come  out  in  a  slow  and 
grudging  gobbet  with  a  heavy  plump  into  the  coffee.  As  she 
waited,  she  gently  rebuked  that  fastidiousness  in  her  companion 
that  shrank  from  contact  with  the  unsavoury  and  the  unfortunate. 

'It  isn't  only  my  fastidiousness,  as  you  call  it,  that  is  offended,' 
Vida  retorted.  'I  am  penetrated  by  the  hopelessness  of  what  we're 
doing.  It  salves  my  conscience,  or  yours  —  Hurriedly  she 

added, ' that's  not  what  you  mean  to  do  it  for,  I  know,  dear  — 

and  you're  an  angel  and  I'm  a  mere  cumberer  of  the  earth.  But 
when  I'm  only  just  "cumbering,"  I  feel  less  a  fraud  than  when 
I'm  pretending  to  do  good.' 

'You  needn't  pretend.' 

'I  can't  do  anything  else.  To  go  among  your  poor  makes  me 
feel  in  my  heart  that  I'm  simply  flaunting  my  better  fortune.' 

'I  never  saw  you  flaunting  it.' 

'Well,  I  assure  you  it's  when  you've  got  me  to  go  with  you  on 
one  of  your  Whitechapel  raids  that  I  feel  most  strongly  how  out 
rageous  it  is  that,  in  addition  to  all  my  other  advantages,  I  should 
buy  self-approval  by  doing  some  tuppenny-ha'penny  service  to  a 
toiling,  starving  fellow-creature.' 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  set  down  her  coffee-cup.  'You  mustn't  sup 
pose '  she  began. 

'No,  no,'  Vida  cut  her  short.  'I  don't  doubt  your  motives.  I 
know  too  well  how  ready  you  are  to  sacrifice  yourself.  But  it  does 
fill  me  with  a  kind  of  rage  to  see  some  of  those  smug  Settlement 


40  THE   CONVERT 

workers,  the  people  that  plume  themselves  on  leaving  luxurious 
homes.  They  don't  say  how  hideously  bored  they  were  in  them. 
They  are  perfectly  enchanted  at  the  excitement  and  importance 
they  get  out  of  going  to  live  among  the  poor,  who  don't  want 
them—' 

'Oh,  my  dear  Vida  ! ' 

'Not  a  little  bit !  Well,  the  wily  paupers  do,  perhaps,  for  what 
they  can  get  out  of  our  sort.' 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  cast  down  her  eyes  as  though  convicted  by 
the  recollection  of  some  concrete  example. 

'We're  only  scratching  at  the  surface,'  Vida  said — 'such  an 
ugly  surface,  too !  And  the  more  we  scratch,  the  uglier  things 
come  to  light.' 

'You  make  too  much  of  that  disappointment  at  Christmas.' 

'I  wasn't  even  thinking  of  the  hundredth  time  you've  been  dis 
illusioned.'  Vida  threw  down  her  table  napkin,  and  stood  up. 
'I  was  thinking  of  people  like  our  young  parson  cousin.' 

'George ' 

Vida  made  a  shrug  of  half-impatient,  half-humorous  assent. 
'Leaves  the  Bishop's  Palace  and  comes  to  London.  He,  too, 
wants  "to  live  for  the  poor."  Never  for  an  instant  one  of  them. 
Always  the  patron  —  the  person  something  may  be  got  out  of  — 
or,  at  all  events,  hoped  from.' 

She  seemed  to  be  about  to  leave  the  room,  but  as  her  sister 
answered  with  some  feeling,  'No,  no,  they  love  and  respect  him!' 
Vida  paused,  and  brought  up  by  the  fire  that  the  sudden  cold 
made  comforting. 

'  George  is  a  different  man  since  he's  found  his  vocation,'  Mrs. 
Fox-Moore  insisted.  ' 'You  read  it  in  his  face.' 

'  Oh,  if  all  you  mean  is  that  he's  happier,  why  not  ?  He's  able 
to  look  on  himself  as  a  benefactor.  He's  tasting  the  intoxication 
of  the  King  among  Beggars.' 

'You  are  grossly  unfair,  Vida.' 

'So  he  thinks  when  I  challenge  him:  "What  good,  what  earthly 
good,  is  all  this  unless  an  anodyne  —  for  you  —  is  good  ?" ' 

'It  seems  to  me  a  very  real  good  that  George  Nuneaton  and  his 
kind  should  go  into  the  dark  places  and  brighten  hopeless  lives 
with  a  little  Christian  kindness  —  sometimes  with  a  little  timely 
counsel.' 


THE   CONVERT  41 

'Yes,  yes,'  said  the  voice  by  the  fire;  'and  a  little  good  music  — 
don't  forget  the  good  music.' 

'An  object-lesson  in  practical  religion,  isn't  that  something?' 

' Practical  1  Good  Heaven!  A  handful  of  complacent,  ex 
pensively  educated  young  people  playing  at  reform.  The  poor 
wanting  work,  wanting  decent  housing  —  wanting  bread  —  and 
offered  a  little  cultivated  companionship.' 

'Vida,  what  have  you  been  reading?' 

'Reading?  I've  been  visiting  George  at  his  Settlement.  I've 
been  intruding  myself  on  the  privacy  of  the  poor  once  a  week  with 
you  —  and  I'm  done  with  it !  Personally  I  don't  get  enough  out 
of  it  to  reconcile  me  to  their  getting  so  little.' 

'You're  burning,'  observed  the  toneless  voice  from  the  head  of 
the  table. 

'Yes,  I  believe  I  was  a  little  hot,'  Vida  laughed  as  she  drew  her 
smoking  skirt  away  from  the  fire.  But  she  still  stood  close  to  the 
cheerful  blaze,  one  foot  on  the  fender,  the  green  cloth  skirt  drawn 
up,  leaving  the  more  delicate  fabric  of  her  silk  petticoat  to  meet  the 
fiery  ordeal.  'If  it  annoys  you  to  hear  me  say  that's  my  view  of 
charity,  why,  don't  make  me  talk  about  it ; '  but  the  face  she  turned 
for  an  instant  over  her  shoulder  was  far  gentler  than  her  words. 
'And  don't  in  future'  —  she  was  again  looking  down  into  the  fire, 
and  she  spoke  slowly  as  one  who  delivers  a  reluctant  ultimatum 
—  'don't  ask  me  to  help,  except  with  money.  That  doesn't  cost 
so  much.' 

'I  am  disappointed.'  Nothing  further,  but  the  sound  of  a  chair 
moved  back,  eloquent  somehow  of  a  discouragement  deeper  than 
words  conveyed. 

Vida  turned  swiftly,  and,  coming  back  to  her  sister,  laid  an  arm 
about  her  shoulder. 

'  I'm  a  perfect  monster !  But  you  know,  my  dear,  you  rather 
goaded  me  into  saying  all  this  by  looking  such  a  martyr  when  I've 
tried  to  get  out  of  going ' 

'Very  well,  I  won't  ask  you  again.'  But  the  toneless  rejoinder 
was  innocent  of  rancour.  Janet  Fox-Moore  gave  the  impression 
of  being  too  chilled,  too  drained  of  the  generous  life-forces,  even 
for  anger. 

'Besides,'  said  Vida,  hurriedly,  'I'd  nearly  forgotten;  there's 
the  final  practising  at  eleven.' 


42  THE  CONVERT 

(Pd  forgotten  your  charity  concert  was  so  near!'  As  Mrs. 
Fox-Moore  gathered  up  her  letters,  she  gave  way  for  the  first  time 
to  a  wintry  little  smile. 

'The  concert's  mine,  I  admit,  but  the  charity's  the  bishop's. 
What  absurd  things  we  women  fill  up  the  holes  in  our  lives  with ! ' 
Vida  said,  as  she  followed  her  sister  into  the  hall.  *  Do  you  know 
the  real  reason  I'm  getting  up  this  foolish  concert?' 

'  Because  you  like  singing,  and  do  it  so  well  that  —  yes,  without 
your  looks  and  the  indescribable  "rest,"  you'd  be  a  success.  I 
told  you  that,  when  I  begged  you  to  come  and  try  London.' 

'The  reason  I'm  slaving  over  the  concert  —  it  isn't  all  musical 
enthusiasm.  It  amuses  me  to  organize  it.  All  the  ticklish,  diffi 
cult,  "bothering"  part  of  getting  up  a  monster  thing  of  this  sort, 
reconciling  malcontents,  enlisting  the  great  operatic  stars  and  not 
losing  the  great  social  lights  —  it  all  interests  me  like  a  game. 
I'm  afraid  the  truth  is  I  like  managing  things.' 

'Perhaps  Mrs.  Freddy's  not  so  far  wrong.' 

'Does  Mrs.  Freddy  accuse  me  of  being  a  "managing  woman," 
horrid  thought?' 

'She  was  talking  about  you  in  her  enthusiastic  way  when  she 
was  here  the  other  day.  "Vida  could  administer  a  state,"  she 
said.  Yes,  /  laughed,  too,  but  Mrs.  Freddy  shook  her  head  quite 
seriously,  and  said,  "To  think  of  a  being  like  Vida  —  not  even  a 
citizen."' 

'I'm  not  a  citizen?'  exclaimed  the  lady,  laughing  down  at  her 
sister  over  the  banisters.  'Does  she  think  because  I've  lived 
abroad  I've  forfeited  my  rights  of ' 

'No,  all  she  means  is  —  Oh,  you  know  the  bee  she's  got  in 
her  bonnet.  She  means,  as  she'll  tell  you,  that  "you  have  no 
more  voice  in  the  affairs  of  England  than  if  you  were  a  Hottentot." ' 

'I  can't  say  I've  ever  minded  that.  But  it  has  an  odd  sound, 
hasn't  it  —  to  hear  one  isn't  a  citizen.' 

'  Mrs.  Freddy  forgets  — 

'I  know!  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,'  said  the  other, 
light-heartedly.  'Mrs.  Freddy  forgets  our  unique  ennobling  in 
fluence;'  and  the  tall  young  woman  laughed  as  she  ran  up  the 
last  half  of  the  long  flight  of  stairs.  At  the  top  she  halted  a  mo 
ment,  and  called  down  to  Mrs.  Fox-Moore,  who  was  examining 
the  cards  left  the  day  before,  'Speaking  of  our  powerful  influence 


THE   CONVERT 


43 


over  our  men-folk  —  Mr.  Freddy  wasn't  present,  was  he,  when 
she  aired  her  views?' 

'No.' 

'I  thought  not.  Her  influence  over  Mr.  Freddy  is  maintained 
by  the  strictest  silence  on  matters  he  isn't  keen  about.' 


CHAPTER  V 

SEEING  Ulland  House  for  the  first  time  on  a  fine  afternoon  in 
early  May  against  the  jubilant  green  of  its  woodland  hillside,  the 
beholder,  a  little  dazzled  in  that  first  instant  by  the  warmth  of 
colour  burning  in  the  ancient  brick,  might  adaptvthe  old  dean's 
line  and  call  the  coral-tinted  structure  rambling  down  the  hillside, 
'A  rose-red  dwelling  half  as  old  as  Time.' 

Its  original  architecture  had  been  modified  by  the  generations 
as  they  passed.  One  lord  of  Ulland  had  expressed  his  fancy  on 
the  eastern  facade  in  gable  and  sculptured  gargoyle;  another  his 
fear  or  his  defiance  in  the  squat  and  sturdy  tower  with  its  cautious 
slits  in  lieu  of  windows.  Yet  another  Ulland  had  brought  home 
from  eighteenth-century  Italy  a  love  of  colonnades  and  terraced 
gardens ;  and  one  still  later  had  cut  down  to  the  level  of  the  sward 
the  high  ground-floor  windows,  so  that  where  before  had  been  two 
doors  or  three,  were  now  a  dozen  giving  egress  to  the  gardens. 

The  legend  so  often  encountered  in  the  history  of  old  English 
houses  was  not  neglected  here  —  that  it  had  been  a  Crusader  of 
this  family  who  had  himself  brought  home  from  the  Holy  Land 
the  Lebanon  cedar  that  spread  wide  its  level  branches  on  the  west, 
cutting  the  sunset  into  even  bars.  Tradition  also  said  it  was  a 
counsellor  of  Elizabeth  who  had  set  the  dial  on  the  lawn.  Even 
the  latest  lord  had  found  a  way  to  leave  his  impress  upon  the  time. 
He  introduced  '  Clock  golf '  at  Ulland.  From  the  upper  windows 
on  the  south  and  west  the  roving  eye  was  caught  by  the  great  staring 
face  of  this  new  timepiece  on  the  turf  —  its  Roman  numerals  show 
ing  keen  and  white  upon  the  vivid  green.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  cedar,  that  incorrigible  Hedonist,  the  crumbling  dial,  told  you 
in  Latin  that  he  only  marked  the  shining  hours.  But  the  brand 
new  clock  on  the  lawn  bore  neither  watchword  nor  device  — 
seemed  even  to  have  dropped  its  hands  as  though  in  modesty  with 
held  from  pointing  to  hours  so  little  worthy  of  record. 

Two  or  three  men,  on  this  fine  Saturday,  had  come  down  from 
London  for  the  week-end  to  disport  themselves  on  the  Ulland  links, 


THE   CONVERT  45 

half  a  mile  beyond  the  park.  After  a  couple  of  raw  days,  the 
afternoon  had  turned  out  quite  unseasonably  warm,  and  though 
the  golfers  had  come  back  earlier  than  usual,  not  because  of  the 
heat  but  because  one  of  their  number  had  a  train  to  catch,  they 
agreed  it  was  distinctly  reviving  to  find  tea  served  out  of  doors. 

Already  Lady  John  was  in  her  place  on  the  pillared  colonnade, 
behind  the  urn.  Already,  too,  one  of  her  pair  of  pretty  nieces  was 
at  hand  to  play  the  skilful  lieutenant.  Hermione  Heriot,  tactful, 
charming,  twenty-five,  was  equally  ready  to  hand  bread  and  but 
ter,  or,  sitting  quietly,  to  perform  the  greater  service  —  that  of 
presenting  the  fresh-coloured,  discreetly-smiling  vision  called  'the 
typical  English  girl.'  Miss  Heriot  fulfilled  to  a  nicety  the  require 
ments  of  those  who  are  sensibly  reassured  by  the  spectacle  of  care 
ful  conventionality  allied  to  feminine  charm  —  a  pleasant  con- 
versability  that  may  be  trusted  to  soothe  and  counted  on  never  to 
startle.  Hermione  would  almost  as  soon  have  stood  on  her  head 
in  Piccadilly  as  have  said  anything  original,  though  to  her  private 
consternation  such  perilous  stuff  had  been  known  to  harbour  an 
uneasy  instant  in  her  bosom.  She  carried  such  inconvenient  cargo 
as  carefully  hidden  as  a  conspirator  would  a  bomb  under  his  cloak. 
It  had  grown  to  be  as  necessary  to  her  to  agree  with  the  views  and 
fashions  of  the  majority  as  it  was  disquieting  to  her  to  see  these 
contravened,  or  even  for  a  single  hour  ignored.  From  the  crown 
of  her  carefully  dressed  head  to  the  tips  of  her  pointed  toes  she 
was  engaged  in  testifying  her  assent  to  the  prevailing  note.  Despite 
all  this  to  recommend  her,  she  was  not  Lady  John's  favourite  niece. 
No  doubt  about  Jean  Dunbarton  holding  that  honour;  and,  to 
Hermione's  credit,  her  own  love  for  her  cousin  enabled  her  to 
accept  the  situation  with  a  creditable  equability.  Jean  Dunbarton 
was  due  now  at  any  moment,  she  having  already  sent  over  her 
luggage  with  her  maid  the  short  two  miles  from  the  Bishop's 
Palace,  where  the  girl  had  dined  and  slept  the  night  before. 

The  rest  of  the  Ulland  House  party  were  arriving  by  the  next 
train.  As  Miss  Levering  was  understood  to  be  one  of  those  ex 
pected  it  will  be  seen  that  a  justified  faith  in  the  excellence  of  the 
Ulland  links  had  not  made  Lady  John  unmindful  of  the  wisdom 
of  including  among  '  the  week-enders '  a  nice  assortment  of  pretty 
women  for  the  amusement  of  her  golfers  in  the  off  hours. 

Of  this  other  young  lady  swinging  her  golf  club  as  she  came 


46  THE  CONVERT 

across  the  lawn  with  the  men  —  sole  petticoat  among  them  —  it 
could  not  be  pretended  that  any  hostess,  let  alone  one  so  worldly- 
wise  as  Lady  John  Ulland,  would  look  to  have  the  above-hinted 
high  and  delicate  office  performed  by  so  upright  and  downright  — 
not  to  say  so  bony  —  a  young  woman,  with  face  so  like  a  horse,  and 
the  stride  of  a  grenadier.  Under  her  short  leather-bound  skirt 
the  great  brown-booted  feet  seemed  shamelessly  to  court  attention 
—  as  it  were  out  of  malice  to  catch  your  eye,  while  deliberately 
they  trampled  on  the  tenderest  traditions  clinging  still  about  the 
Weaker  Sex. 

Lady  John  held  in  her  hand  the  top  of  the  jade  and  silver  tea- 
caddy.  Hermione,  as  well  as  her  aunt,  knew  that  this  top  held 
four  teaspoonsful  of  tea.  Lady  John  filled  it  once,  filled  it  twice, 
and  turned  the  contents  out  each  time  into  the  gaping  pot.  Then, 
absent-mindedly,  she  paused,  eyeing  the  approaching  party, —  that 
genial  silver-haired  despot,  her  husband,  walking  with  Lord 
Borrodaile,  the  gawky  girl  between  them,  except  when  she  paused 
to  practise  a  drive.  The  fourth  person,  a  short,  compactly  knit 
man,  was  lounging  along  several  paces  behind,  but  every  now  and 
then  energetically  shouting  out  his  share  in  the  conversation.  The 
ground  of  Lady  John's  interest  in  the  group  seemed  to  consist  in 
a  half-mechanical  counting  of  noses.  Her  eyes  came  back  to  the 
tea-table  and  she  made  a  third  addition  to  the  jade  and  silver 
measure. 

'We  shall  be  only  six  for  the  first  brew,'  prompted  the  girl  at  her 
side. 

'Paul  Filey  is  mooning  somewhere  about  the  garden.' 

'Oh!' 

'Why  do  you  say  it  like  that?' 

Hermione's  eyes  rested  a  moment  on  the  golfer  who  was  bring 
ing  up  the  rear.  He  was  younger  than  his  rather  set  figure  had  at 
a  distance  proclaimed  him. 

'I  was  only  thinking  Dick  Farnborough  can't  abide  Paul,'  said 
the  girl. 

'  A  typical  product  of  the  public  school  is  hardly  likely  to  appre 
ciate  an  undisciplined  creature  with  a  streak  of  genius  in  him  like 
Paul  Filey.' 

'Oh,  I  rather  love  him  myself,'  said  the  girl,  lightly,  'only  as 
Sophia  says  he  does  talk  rather  rot  at  times.' 


THE   CONVERT  47 

With  her  hand  on  the  tea-urn,  releasing  a  stream  of  boiling 
water  into  the  pot,  Lady  John  glanced  over  the  small  thickset 
angel  that  poised  himself  on  one  podgy  foot  upon  the  lid  of  the 
urn. 

*  Sophia's  too  free  with  her  tongue.     It's  a  mistake.     It  frightens 
people  off.' 

'  Men,  you  mean  ? ' 

'Especially  men.' 

'I  often  think,'  said  the  young  woman,  'that  men  —  all  except 
Paul  —  would  be  more  shocked  at  Sophia  —  if  —  she  wasn't  who 
she  is.' 

'No  doubt,'  agreed  her  aunt.  'Still  I  sympathize  with  her 
parents.  I  don't  see  how  they'll  ever  marry  her.  She  might  just 
as  well  be  Miss  Jones  —  that  girl  —  for  all  she  makes  of  herself.' 

'Yes;  I've  often  thought  so,  too,'  agreed  Hermione,  apparently 
conscious  that  the  very  most  was  made  of  her. 

1  She  hasn't  even  been  taught  to  walk.'  Lady  John  was  still 
watching  the  girl's  approach. 

*  Yet  she  looks  best  out  of  doors,'  said  Hermione,  firmly. 

1  Oh,  yes !  She  comes  into  the  drawing-room  as  if  she  were 
crossing  a  ploughed  field  ! ' 

'All  the  same,'  said  Hermione,  under  her  breath,  'when  she  is 
indoors  I'd  rather  see  her  walking  than  sitting.' 

'  You  mean  the  way  she  crosses  her  legs  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

'But  that,  too  —  it  seems  like  so  many  other  things,  a  question 
only  of  degree.  Nobody  objects  to  seeing  a  pair  of  neat  ankles 
crossed  —  it  looks  rather  nice  and  early  Victorian.  Nowadays 
lots  of  girls  cross  their  knees  —  and  nobody  says  anything.  But 
Sophia  crosses  her  —  well,  her  thighs.' 

And  the  two  women  laughed  understandingly. 

A  stranger  might  imagine  that  the  reason  for  Lady  Sophia's 
presence  in  the  party  was  that  she,  by  common  consent,  played  a 
capital  game  of  golf  —  'for  a  woman.'  That  fact,  however,  was 
rather  against  her.  For  people  who  can  play  the  beguiling  game, 
want  to  play  it  —  and  want  to  play  it  not  merely  now  and  then  out 
of  public  spirit  to  make  up  a  foursome,  but  constantly  and  for  pure 
selfish  love  of  it.  Woman  may,  if  she  likes,  take  it  as  a  compliment 
to  her  sex  that  this  proclivity  —  held  to  be  wholly  natural  in  a 


48  THE   CONVERT 

man  —  is  called  'rather  unfeminine'  in  a  woman.  But  it  was  a 
defect  like  the  rest,  forgiven  the  Lady  Sophia  for  her  father's  sake. 
Lord  Borrodaile,  held  to  be  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  men,  was 
much  in  request  for  parties  of  this  description.  One  reason  for 
his  daughter's  being  there  was  that  it  glossed  the  fact  that  Lady 
Borrodaile  was  not  —  was,  indeed,  seldom  present,  and  one  may 
say  never  missed,  in  the  houses  frequented  by  her  husband. 

But  as  he  and  his  friends  not  only  did  not  belong  to,  but  looked 
down  upon,  the  ultra  smart  set,  where  the  larger  freedoms  are 
practised  in  lieu  of  the  lesser  decencies,  Lord  Borrodaile  lived  his 
life  as  far  removed  from  any  touch  of  scandal  and  irregularity  as 
the  most  puritanic  of  the  bourgeoisie.  Part  and  parcel  of  his 
fastidiousness,  some  said  —  others,  that  from  his  Eton  days  he 
had  always  been  a  lazy  beggar.  As  though  to  show  that  he  did 
not  shrink  from  reasonable  responsibility  towards  his  female  im 
pedimenta,  any  inquiry  as  to  the  absence  of  Lady  Borrodaile  was 
met  by  reference  to  Sophia.  In  short,  where  other  attractive  hus 
bands  brought  a  boring  wife,  Lord  Borrodaile  brought  an  undecora- 
tive  daughter.  While  to  the  onlooker  nearly  every  aspect  of  this 
particular  young  woman  would  seem  destined  to  offend  a  beauty- 
loving,  critical  taste  like  that  of  Borrodaile,  he  was  probably  served, 
as  other  mortals  are,  by  that  philosophy  of  the  senses  which  brings 
in  time  a  deafness  and  a  blindness  to  the  unloveliness  that  we  needs 
must  live  beside.  Lord  Borrodaile  was  far  too  intelligent  not  to 
see,  too,  that  when  people  had  got  over  Lady  Sophia's  uncom 
promising  exterior,  they  found  things  in  her  to  admire  as  well  as 
to  stand  a  little  in  awe  of.  Unlike  one  another  as  the  Borrodailes 
were,  in  one  respect  they  presented  to  the  world  an  undivided 
front.  From  their  point  of  view,  just  as  laws  existed  to  keep  other 
people  in  order,  so  was  'fashion'  an  affair  for  the  middle  classes. 
The  Borrodailes  might  dress  as  dowdily  as  they  pleased,  might 
speak  as  uncompromisingly  as  they  felt  inclined.  Were  they  not 
Borrodailes  of  Borrodaile  ?  Though  open  expression  of  this  spirit 
grows  less  common,  they  would  not  have  denied  that  it  is  still  the 
prevailing  temper  of  the  older  aristocracy.  And  so  it  has  hitherto 
been  true  that  among  its  women  you  find  that  sort  of  freedom 
which  is  the  prerogative  of  those  called  the  highest  and  of  those 
called  the  lowest.  It  is  the  women  of  all  the  grades  between  these 
two  extremes  who  have  dared  not  to  be  themselves,  who  ape  the 


THE   CONVERT  49 

manners,  echo  the  catchwords,  and  garb  themselves  in  the  elaborate 
ugliness,  devised  for  the  blind  meek  millions. 

As  the  Lady  Sophia,  now  a  little  in  advance  of  her  companions, 
came  stalking  towards  the  steps,  out  from  a  little  path  that  wound 
among  the  thick-growing  laurels  issued  Paul  Filey.  He  raised  his 
eyes,  and  hurriedly  thrust  a  small  book  into  his  pocket.  The 
young  lady  paused,  but  only  apparently  to  pat,  or  rather  to  admin 
ister  an  approving  cuff  to,  the  Bedlington  terrier  lying  near  the 
lower  step. 

'Well,'  she  said  over  her  shoulder  to  Filey,  'our  side  gave  a  good 
account  of  itself  that  last  round/ 

'I  was  sure  it  would  as  soon  as  my  malign  influence  was  re 
moved.' 

'Yes;  from  the  moment  I  took  on  Dick  Farnborough,  the  situa 
tion  assumed  a  new  aspect.  You'll  never  play  a  good  game,  you 
know,  if  you  go  quoting  Baudelaire  on  the  links.' 

'Poor  Paul!'  his  hostess  murmured  to  her  niece,  'I  always 
tremble  when  I  see  him  exposed  to  Sophia's  ruthless  handling.' 

'Yes,'  whispered  Hermione.  'She  says  she's  sure  he  thinks  of 
himself  as  a  prose  Shelley;  and  for  some  reason  that  infuriates 
Sophia.' 

With  a  somewhat  forced  air  of  amusement,  Mr.  Filey  was 
following  his  critic  up  the  steps,  she  still  mocking  at  his  'drives' 
and  the  way  he  negotiated  his  bunkers. 

Arrived  at  the  top  of  the  little  terrace,  whose  close-shorn  turf 
was  level  with  the  flagged  floor  of  the  colonnade,  Mr.  Filey  sought 
refuge  near  Hermione,  as  the  storm-tossed  barque,  fleeing  before 
the  wind,  hies  swift  to  the  nearest  haven. 

Bending  over  the  Bedlington,  the  Amazon  remained  on  the  top 
step,  her  long,  rather  good  figure  garbed  in  stuff  which  Filey  had 
said  was  fit  only  for  horse-blankets,  but  which  was  Harris  tweed 
slackly  belted  by  a  broad  canvas  girdle  drawn  through  a  buckle 
of  steel. 

'Will  you  tell  me,'  he  moaned  in  Hermione's  ear,  'why  the 
daughter  of  a  hundred  earls  has  the  manners  of  a  groom,  and 
dresses  herself  in  odds  and  ends  of  the  harness  room  ? ' 

'  Sh !  Somebody  told  her  once  you'd  said  something  of  that 
sort.' 

'No  I1  he  said.     'Who?' 


50  THE  CONVERT 

'It  wasn't  I.' 

'  Of  course  not.     But  did  she  mind  ?    What  did  she  say,  eh  ?' 

'She  only  said,  "He  got  that  out  of  a  novel  of  Miss  Broughton's."' 

Filey  looked  a  little  dashed.  '  No  !  Has  Miss  Broughton  said 
it,  too  ?  Then  there  are  more  of  them  1 '  He  glanced  again  at  the 
Amazon.  *  Horrible  thought ! ' 

'Don't  be  so  unreasonable.  She  couldn't  play  golf  in  a  long 
skirt  and  high  heels  ! ' 

'Who  wants  a  woman  to  play  golf?' 

Hermione  gave  him  his  tea  with  a  smile.  She  knew  with  an 
absolute  precision  just  how  perfectly  at  that  moment  she  herself 
was  presenting  the  average  man's  picture  of  the  ideal  type  of 
reposeful  womanhood. 

As  Lord  John  and  the  two  other  men,  his  companions,  came  up 
the  steps  in  the  midst  of  a  discussion  — 

'If  you  stop  to  argue,  Mr.  Farnborough,'  said  Lady  John,  hold 
ing  out  a  cup,  'you  won't  have  time  for  tea  before  you  catch  that 
train.' 

'  Oh,  thank  you ! '  He  hastened  to  relieve  her,  while  Hermione 
murmured  regrets  that  he  wasn't  staying.  '  Lady  John  didn't  ask 
me,'  he  confided.  As  he  saw  in  Hermione's  face  a  project  to  inter 
cede  for  him,  he  added,  'And  now  I've  promised  my  mother  — 
we've  got  a  lot  of  people  coming,  and  two  men  short ! ' 

'  Two  men  short !  how  horrible  for  her  ! '  She  said  it  half  laugh 
ing,  but  her  view  of  the  reality  of  the  dilemma  was  apparent  in  her 
letting  the  subject  drop. 

Farnborough,  standing  there  tea-cup  in  hand,  joined  again  in 
the  discussion  that  was  going  on  about  some  unnamed  politician 
of  the  day,  with  whose  character  and  destiny  the  future  of  England 
might  quite  conceivably  be  involved. 

Before  a  great  while  this  unnamed  person  would  be  succeeding 
his  ailing  and  childless  brother.  There  were  lamentations  in  pros 
pect  of  his  too  early  translation  to  the  Upper  House. 

The  older  men  had  been  speaking  of  his  family,  in  which  the 
tradition  of  public  service,  generations  old,  had  been  revived  in  the 
person  of  this  younger  son. 

'I  have  never  understood,'  Lord  John  was  saying,  'how  a  man 
with  such  opportunities  hasn't  done  more.' 

'A  man  as  able,  too,'  said  Borrodaile,  lazily.     'Think  of  the 


THE   CONVERT  51 

tribute  he  wrung  out  of  Gladstone  at  the  very  beginning  of  his 
career.  Whatever  we  may  think  of  the  old  fox,  Gladstone  had 
an  eye  for  men.' 

'  Be  quiet,  will  you  ! '  Lady  Sophia  administered  a  little  whack 
to  the  Bedlington.  '  Sh  !  Joey !  don't  you  hear  they're  talking 
about  our  cousin  ? ' 

*  Who  ? '  said  Filey,  bending  over  the  lady  with  a  peace-offering 
of  cake. 

'Why,  Geoffrey  Stonor,'  answered  Sophia. 

'  Is  it  Stonor  they  mean  ? ' 

'Well,  of  course.' 

'How  do  you  know?'  demanded  Filey,  in  the  pause. 

'Oh,  wherever  there  are  two  or  three  gathered  together  talking 
politics  and  "the  coming  man"  —  who  has  such  a  frightful  lot  in 
him  that  very  little  ever  comes  out  —  it's  sure  to  be  Geoffrey 
Stonor  they  mean,  isn't  it,  Joey?' 

'Perhaps,'  said  her  father,  dryly,  'you'll  just  mention  that  to 
him  at  dinner  to-night.' 

'  What/'  said  Farnborough,  with  a  keen  look  in  his  eyes.  'You 
don't  mean  he's  coming  here ! ' 

Sophia,  too,  had  looked  round  at  her  host  with  frank  interest. 

'Comin'  to  play  golf?' 

'  Well,  he  mayn't  get  here  in  time  for  a  round  to-night,  but  we're 
rather  expecting  him  by  this  four-thirty.' 

'  What  fun  1 '     Lady  Sophia's  long  face  had  brightened. 

'  May  I  stay  over  till  the  next  train  ? '  Farnborough  was  whisper 
ing  to  Lady  John  as  he  went  round  to  her  on  the  pretext  of  more 
cream.  'Thank  you  —  then  I  won't  go  till  the  six  forty-two.' 

'I  didn't  know,'  Lady  Sophia  was  observing  in  her  somewhat 
crude  way,  'that  you  knew  Geoffrey  as  well  as  all  that.' 

'We  don't,'  said  Lord  John.  'He's  been  saying  for  years  he 
wanted  to  come  down  and  try  our  links,  but  it's  by  a  fluke  that  he's 
coming,  after  all.' 

'He  never  comes  to  see  us.  He's  far  too  busy,  ain't  he,  Joey, 
even  if  we  can't  see  that  he  accomplishes  much  ? ' 

'Give  him  time  and  you'll  see !'  said  Farnborough,  with  a  wag 
of  his  head. 

'Yes,'  said  Lord  John,  'he's  still  a  young  man.     Barely  forty.' 

'Barely  forty  I     They  believe  in  prolonging  their  youth,  don't 


52  THE   CONVERT 

they?'  said  Lady  Sophia  to  no  one  in  particular,  and  with  her 
mouth  rather  more  full  of  cake  than  custom  prescribes.  'Good 
thing  it  isn't  us,  ain't  it,  Joey?' 

'For  a  politician  forty  is  young,'  said  Farnborough. 

'Oh,  don't  I  know  it!'  she  retorted.  'I  was  reading  the  life 
of  Randolph  Churchill  the  other  day,  and  I  came  across  a  para 
graph  of  filial  admiration  about  the  hold  Lord  Randolph  had  con 
trived  to  get  so  early  in  life  over  the  House  of  Commons.  It 
occurred  to  me  to  wonder  just  how  much  of  a  boy  Lord  Randolph 
was  at  the  time.  I  was  going  to  count  up  when  I  was  saved  the 
trouble  by  coming  to  a  sentence  that  said  he  was  then  "an  unproved 
stripling  of  thirty-two."  You  shouldn't  laugh.  It  wasn't  meant 
sarcastic.' 

'Unless  you're  leader  of  the  Opposition,  I  suppose  it's  not  very 
easy  to  do  much  while  your  party's  out  of  power,'  hazarded  Lady 
John,  'is  it?' 

'  One  of  the  most  interesting  things  about  our  coming  back  will 
be  to  watch  Stonor,'  said  Farnborough. 

'After  all,  they  said  he  did  very  well  with  his  Under  Secretary 
ship  under  the  last  Government,  didn't  they?'  Again  Lady  John 
appealed  to  the  two  elder  men. 

'Oh,  yes,'  said  Borrodaile.     'Oh,  yes:' 

'  And  the  way '  —  Farnborough  made  up  for  any  lack  of  en 
thusiasm  —  '  the  (vay  he  handled  that  Balkan  question ! ' 

'All  that  was  pure  routine,'  Lord  John  waved  it  aside.  'But 
if  Stonor  had  ever  looked  upon  politics  as  more  than  a  game,  he'd 
have  been  a  power  long  before  this.' 

'Ah,'  said  Borrodaile,  slowly,  'you  go  as  far  as  that?  I  doubt 
myself  if  he  has  enough  of  the  demagogue  in  him.' 

'But  that's  just  why.  The  English  people  are  not  like  the 
Americans  or  the  French.  The  English  have  a  natural  distrust  of 
the  demagogue.  I  tell  you  if  Stonor  once  believed  in  anything 
with  might  and  main,  he'd  be  a  leader  of  men.' 

'Here  he  is  now.' 

Farnborough  was  the  first  to  distinguish  the  sound  of  carriage 
wheels  behind  the  shrubberies.  The  others  looked  up  and  listened. 
Yes,  the  crunch  of  gravel.  The  wall  of  laurel  was  too  thick  to  give 
any  glimpse  from  this  side  of  the  drive  that  wound  round  to  the 
main  entrance.  But  some  animating  vision  nevertheless  seemed 


THE   CONVERT  53 

miraculously  to  have  penetrated  the  dense  green  wall,  to  the 
obvious  enlivenment  of  the  company. 

'It's  rather  exciting  seeing  him  at  close  quarters,'  Hermione  said 
to  Filey. 

1  Yes  !  He's  the  only  politician  I  can  get  up  any  real  enthusiasm 
for.  He's  so  many-sided.  I  saw  him  yesterday  at  a  Bond  Street 
show  looking  at  caricatures  of  himself  and  all  his  dearest  friends.' 

'Really.     How  did  he  take  the  sacrilege?' 

'Oh,  he  was  immensely  amused  at  the  fellow's  impudence. 
You  see,  Stonor  could  understand  the  art  of  the  thing  as  well  as 
the  fun  —  the  fierce  economy  of  line  — 

Nobody  listened.  There  were  other  attempts  at  conversation, 
mere  decent  pretence  at  not  being  absorbed  in  watching  for  the 
appearance  of  Geoffrey  Stonor. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THERE  was  the  faint  sound  of  a  distant  door's  opening,  and  there 
was  a  glimpse  of  the  old  butler.  But  before  he  could  reach  the 
French  window  with  his  announcement,  his  own  colourless  presence 
was  masked,  wiped  out  —  not  as  the  company  had  expected  by 
the  apparition  of  a  man,  but  by  a  tall,  lightly-moving  young  woman 
with  golden-brown  eyes,  and  wearing  a  golden-brown  gown  that 
had  touches  of  wallflower  red  and  gold  on  the  short  jacket.  There 
were  only  wallflowers  in  the  small  leaf-green  toque,  and  except  for 
the  sable  boa  in  her  hand  (which  so  suddenly  it  was  too  warm  to 
wear)  no  single  thing  about  her  could  at  all  adequately  account  for 
the  air  of  what,  for  lack  of  a  better  term,  may  be  called  accessory 
elegance  that  pervaded  the  golden-brown  vision,  taking  the  low 
sunlight  on  her  face  and  smiling  as  she  stepped  through  the 
window. 

It  was  no  small  tribute  to  the  lady  had  she  but  known  it,  that  her 
coming  was  not  received  nor  even  felt  as  an  anti-climax. 

As  she  came  forward,  all  about  her  rose  a  significant  Babel: 
' Here's  Miss  Levering  1 '  ' It's  Vida ! '  'Oh,  how  do  you  do  1 '  — 
the  frou-frou  of  swishing  skirts,  the  scrape  of  chairs  pushed  back 
over  stone  flags,  and  the  greeting  of  the  host  and  hostess,  cordial 
to  the  point  of  affection  —  the  various  handshakings,  the  discreet 
winding  through  the  groups  of  a  footman  with  a  fresh  teapot,  the 
Bedlington's  first  attack  of  barking  merged  in  tail-wagging  upon 
pleased  recognition  of  a  friend;  and  a  final  settling  down  again 
about  the  tea-table  with  the  air  full  of  scraps  of  talk  and  unfinished 
questions. 

'You  didn't  see  anything  of  my  brother  and  his  wife?'  asked 
Lord  Borrodaile. 

'Oh,  yes,'  his  host  suddenly  remembered.  'I  thought  the 
Freddys  were  coming  by  that  four-thirty  as  well  as ' 

'No  —  nobody  but  me.'  She  threw  her  many-tailed  boa  on 
the  back  of  the  chair  that  Paul  Filey  had  drawn  up  for  her  between 
the  hostess  and  the  place  where  Borrodaile  had  been  sitting. 

54 


THE  CONVERT  55 

*  There  are  two  more  good  trains  before  dinner '  began 

Lord  John. 

'Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you/  said  his  wife,  as  she  gave  the  cup  just 
filled  for  the  new-comer  into  the  nearest  of  the  outstretched  hands 
—  '  didn't  I  tell  you  I  had  a  note  from  Mrs.  Freddy  by  the  after 
noon  post?  They  aren't  coming.' 

Out  of  a  little  chorus  of  regret,  came  Borrodaile's  slightly  mock 
ing,  'Anything  wrong  with  the  precious  children?' 

'  She  didn't  mention  the  children  —  nor  much  of  anything  else  — 
just  a  hurried  line.' 

'The  children  were  as  merry  as  grigs  yesterday,'  said  Vida, 
looking  at  their  uncle  across  the  table.  '  I  went  on  to  the  Freddys' 
after  the  Royal  Academy.  No  ! '  she  put  her  cup  down  suddenly. 
'  Nobody  is  to  ask  me  how  I  like  my  own  picture !  The  Tunbridge 
children ' 

'That  thing  Hoyle  has  done  of  you,'  said  Lord  Borrodaile, 
deliberately, '  is  a  very  brilliant  and  a  very  misleading  performance.' 

'Thank  you.' 

Filey  and  Lord  John,  in  spite  of  her  interdiction,  were  pursuing 
the  subject  of  the  much-discussed  portrait. 

'  It  certainly  is  one  aspect  of  you  — 


'  Don't  you  think  his  Velasquez-like  use  of  black  and  white  — 

'The  tiny  Tunbridges,  as  I  was  saying,'  she  went  on  imper- 
turbably,  'were  having  a  teafight  when  I  got  there.  I  say  "fight" 
advisedly.' 

'Then  I'll  warrant,'  said  their  uncle,  'that  Sara  was  the  ag 
gressor.' 

'She  was.' 

'You  saw  Mrs.  Freddy?'  asked  Lady  John,  with  an  interest 
half  amused,  half  cynical,  in  her  eyes. 

'For  a  moment.' 

'She  doesn't  confess  it,  I  suppose,'  the  hostess  went  on,  'but  I 
imagine  she  is  rather  perturbed;'  and  Lady  John  glanced  at 
Borrodaile  with  her  good-humoured,  worldly-wise  smile. 

'Poor  Mrs.  Freddy!'  said  Vida.  'You  see,  she's  taken  it  all 
quite  seriously  —  this  Suffrage  nonsense.' 

'Yes;'  Mrs.  Freddy's  brother-in-law  had  met  Lady  John's 
look  with  the  same  significant  smile  as  that  lady's  own  —  'Yes, 
she's  naturally  feeling  rather  crestfallen  —  perhaps  she'll  see  now  1 ' 


56  THE   CONVERT 

'Mrs.  Freddy  crestfallen,  what  about?'  said  Farnborough. 
But  he  was  much  preoccupied  at  that  moment  in  supplying  Lady 
Sophia  with  bits  of  toast  the  exact  size  for  balancing  on  the  Bed- 
lington's  nose.  For  the  benefit  of  his  end  of  the  table  Paul  Filey 
had  begun  to  describe  the  new  one-man  show  of  caricatures  of 
famous  people  just  opened  in  Bond  Street.  The  'mordant  genius,' 
as  he  called  it,  of  this  new  man  —  an  American  Jew  —  offered  an 
irresistible  opportunity  for  phrase-making.  And  still  on  the  other 
side  of  the  tea  urn  the  Ullands  were  discussing  with  Borrodaile 
and  Miss  Levering  the  absent  lady  whose  'case'  was  obviously  a 
matter  of  concern  to  her  friends. 

'Well,  let  us  hope,'  Lord  John  was  saying  as  sternly  as  his 
urbanity  permitted  —  '  let  us  hope  this  exhibition  in  the  House 
will  be  a  lesson  to  her.' 

'She  wasn't  concerned  in  it!'  Vida  quickly  defended  her. 

'Nevertheless  we  are  all  hoping,'  said  Lady  John,  'that  it  has 
come  just  in  time  to  prevent  her  from  going  over  the  edge.' 

'Over  the  edge!'  Farnborough  pricked  up  his  ears  at  last  in 
good  earnest,  feeling  that  the  conversation  on  the  other  side  had 
grown  too  interesting  for  him  to  be  out  of  it  any  longer.  'Over 
what  edge?' 

'The  edge  of  the  Woman  Suffrage  precipice,'  said  Lady  John. 

'  You  call  it  a  precipice  ? '  Vida  Levering  raised  her  dark  brows 
in  a  little  smile. 

'  Don't  you  ? '  demanded  her  hostess. 

'I  should  say  mud-puddle.' 

'  From  the  point  of  view  of  the  artist '  —  Paul  Filey  had  begun 
laying  down  some  new  law,  but  turning  an  abrupt  corner,  he  fol 
lowed  the  wandering  attention  of  his  audience  —  '  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  artist,'  he  repeated,  'it  would  be  interesting  to  know 
what  the  phenomenon  is,  that  Lady  John  took  for  a  precipice  and 
that  Miss  Levering  says  is  a  mud-puddle.' 

'Oh,'  said  Lord  John,  thinking  it  well  to  generalize  and  spare 
Mrs.  Freddy  further  rending,  'we've  been  talking  about  this  pub 
lic  demonstration  of  the  unfitness  of  women  for  public  affairs.' 

'  Give  me  some  more  toast  dice  ! '  Sophia  said  to  Farnborough. 
'You  haven't  seen  Joey's  new  accomplishment.  They're  only 
discussing  that  idiotic  scene  the  women  made  the  other  night.' 

( Oh,  in  the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons  ? ' 


THE   CONVERT  57 

'Yes,  wasn't  it  disgustin'?'  said  Paul  Filey,  facing  about  sud 
denly  with  an  air  of  cheerful  surprise  at  having  at  last  hit  on  some 
thing  that  he  and  Lady  Sophia  could  heartily  agree  about. 

*  Perfectly  revolting ! '  said  Hermione  Heriot,  not  to  be  out  of  it. 
For  it  is  well  known  that,  next  to  a  great  enthusiasm  shared,  noth 
ing  so  draws  human  creatures  together  as  a  good  bout  of  cursing 
in  common.  So  with  emphasis  Miss  Heriot  repeated,  'Perfectly 
revolting ! ' 

Her  reward  was  to  see  Paul  turn  away  from  Sophia  and  say,  in  a 
tone  whose  fervour  might  be  called  marked  — 

'I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so !' 

She  consolidated  her  position  by  asking  sweetly,  'Does  it  need 
saying  ? ' 

'Not  by  people  like  you.  But  it  does  need  saying  when  it  comes 
to  people  we  know ' 

'Like  Mrs.  Freddy.     Yes.' 

That  unfortunate  little  lady  seemed  to  be  'getting  it'  on  all  sides. 
Even  her  brother-in-law,  who  was  known  to  be  in  reality  a  great 
ally  of  hers  —  even  Lord  Borrodaile  was  chuckling  as  though  at 
some  reflection  distinctly  diverting. 

'  Poor  Laura !  She  was  being  unmercifully  chaffed  about  it  last 
night.' 

'I  don't  myself  consider  it  any  longer  a  subject  for  chaff,'  said 
Lord  John. 

'No,' agreed  his  wife;  ' I  felt  that  before  this  last  outbreak.  At 
the  time  of  the  first  disturbance  —  where  was  it  ?  —  in  some  town 
in  the  North  several  weeks  ago — 

'Yes,'  said  Vida  Levering;  'I  almost  think  that  was  even 
worse ! ' 

'Conceive  the  sublime  impertinence,'  said  Lady  John,  'of  an 
ignorant  little  factory  girl  presuming  to  stand  up  in  public  and 
interrupt  a  speech  by  a  minister  of  the  Crown ! ' 

'I  don't  know  what  we're  coming  to,  I'm  sure !'  said  Borrodaile, 
with  a  detached  air. 

'  Oh,  that  girl  —  beyond  a  doubt,'  said  his  host,  with  conviction 
—  'that  girl  was  touched.' 

'Oh,  beyond  a  doubt!'  echoed  Mr.  Farnborough. 

'There's  something  about  this  particular  form  of  feminine 
folly '  began  Lord  John. 


58  THE   CONVERT 

But  he  wasn't  listened  to  —  for  several  people  were  talking  at 
once. 

After  receiving  a  few  preliminary  kicks,  the  subject  had  fallen, 
as  a  football  might,  plump  into  the  very  midst  of  a  group  of  school 
boys.  Its  sudden  presence  there  stirred  even  the  sluggish  to  un 
wonted  feats.  Every  one  must  have  his  kick  at  this  Suffrage  Ball, 
and  manners  were  for  the  nonce  in  abeyance. 

In  the  midst  of  an  obscuring  dust  of  discussion,  floated  fragments 
of  condemnation :  '  Sexless  creatures  ! '  '  The  Shrieking  Sister 
hood  ! '  etc.,  in  which  the  kindest  phrase  was  Lord  John's  repeated, 
'Touched,  you  know,'  as  he  tapped  his  forehead  —  'not  really 
responsible,  poor  wretches.  Touched.' 

'Still,  everybody  doesn't  know  that.  It  must  give  men  a  quite 
horrid  idea  of  women,'  said  Hermione,  delicately. 

'  No '  —  Lord  Borrodaile  spoke  with  a  wise  forbearance  —  '  we 
don't  confound  a  handful  of  half-insane  females  with  the  whole 
sex.' 

Dick  Farnborough  was  in  the  middle  of  a  spirited  account  of 
that  earlier  outbreak  in  the  North  — 

'She  was  yelling  like  a  Red  Indian,  and  the  policeman  carried 
her  out  scratching  and  spitting ' 

'  Ugh  ! '     Hermione  exchanged  looks  of  horror  with  Paul  Filey. 

'Oh,  yes,'  said  Lady  John,  with  disgust,  'we  saw  all  that  in  the 
papers.' 

Miss  Levering,  too,  had  turned  her  face  away  —  not  as  Her 
mione  did,  to  summon  a  witness  to  her  detestation,  but  rather  as 
one  avoiding  the  eyes  of  the  men. 

'You  see,'  said  Farnborough,  with  gusto,  'there's  something 
about  women's  clothes  —  especially  their  hats,  you  know  —  they 
—  well,  they  ain't  built  for  battle.' 

'They  ought  to  wear  deer-stalkers/  was  Lady  Sophia's  contri 
bution  to  the  New  Movement. 

'It  is  quite  true,'  Lady  John  agreed,  'that  a  woman  in  a  scrim 
mage  can  never  be  a  heroic  figure.' 

'No,  that's  just  it,'  said  Farnborough.  'She's  just  funny,  don't 
you  know ! ' 

'I  don't  agree  with  you  about  the  fun,'  Borrodaile  objected. 
'That's  why  I'm  glad  they've  had  their  lesson.  I  should  say 
there  was  almost  nothing  more  degrading  than  this  public  spectacle 


THE  CONVERT  59 

of >  Borrcdaile  lifted  his  high  shoulders  higher  still,  with  an 

effect  of  intense  discomfort.  '  It  never  but  once  came  my  way  that 
I  remember,  but  I'm  free  to  own,'  he  said,  'there's  nothing  that 
shakes  my  nerves  like  seeing  a  woman  struggling  and  kicking  in  a 
policeman's  arms.' 

But  Farnborough  was  not  to  be  dissuaded  from  seeing  humour 
in  the  situation. 

'They  say  they  swept  up  a  peck  of  hairpins  after  the  battle!' 

As  though  she  had  had  as  much  of  the  subject  as  she  could  very 
well  stand,  Miss  Levering  leaned  sideways,  put  an  arm  behind  her, 
and  took  possession  of  her  boa. 

'They're  just  ending  the  first  act  of  Siegfried.  How  glad  I  am 
to  be  in  your  garden  instead  of  Co  vent  Garden  1 ' 

Ordinarily  there  would  have  been  a  movement  to  take  the 
appreciative  guest  for  a  stroll. 

Perhaps  it  was  only  chance,  or  the  enervating  heat,  that  kept 
the  company  in  their  chairs  listening  to  Farnborough  — 

'The  cattiest  one  of  the  two,  there  she  stood  like  this,  her  clothes 
half  torn  off,  her  hair  down  her  back,  her  face  the  colour  of  a 
lobster  and  the  crowd  jeering  at  her  — 

'  I  don't  see  how  you  could  stand  and  look  on  at  such  a  hideous 
scene,'  said  Miss  Levering. 

'Oh  —  I  —  I  didn't !  I'm  only  telling  you  how  Wilkinson 
described  it.  He  said  — 

'How  did  Major  Wilkinson  happen  to  be  there?'  asked  Lady 
John. 

'  He'd  motored  over  from  Headquarters  to  move  a  vote  of  thanks 
to  the  chairman.  He  said  he'd  seen  some  revolting  things  in  his 
time,  but  the  scrimmage  of  the  stewards  and  the  police  with  those 
women ! '  Farnborough  ended  with  an  expressive  gesture. 

'If  it  was  as  horrible  as  that  for  Major  Wilkinson  to  look  on 
at  —  what  must  it  have  been  for  those  girls  ? '  It  was  Miss  Lever 
ing  speaking.  She  seemed  to  have  abandoned  the  hope  of  being 
taken  for  a  stroll,  and  was  leaning  forward,  chin  in  hand,  looking 
at  the  fringe  of  the  teacloth. 

Richard  Farnborough  glanced  at  her  as  if  he  resented  the  note 
of  wondering  pity  in  the  low  tone. 

'It's  never  so  bad  for  the  lunatic/  he  said,  'as  for  the  sane  people 
looking  on.' 


60  THE   CONVERT 

'Oh,  I  don't  suppose  they  mind,'  said  Hermione  —  'women  like 
that: 

'It's  flattery  to  call  them  women.  They're  sexless  monstrosities,' 
said  Paul  Filey. 

'You  know  some  of  them?'     Vida  raised  her  head. 

'I?'  Filey's  face  was  nothing  less  than  aghast  at  the  mere 
suggestion. 

'But  you've  seen  them ?' 

'Heaven  forbid!' 

'But  I  suppose  you've  gone  and  listened  to  them  haranguing 
the  crowds.' 

'  Now  do  I  look  like  a  person  who ' 

'Well,  you  see  we're  all  so  certain  they're  such  abominations,' 
said  Vida,  'I  thought  maybe  some  of  us  knew  something  about 
them.' 

Dick  Farnborough  was  heard  saying  to  Lord  John  in  a  tone  of 
cheerful  vigour  — 

'Locking  up  is  too  good  for  'em.     I'd  give  'em  a  good  thrashin'.' 

'  Spirited  fellow  ! '  said  Miss  Levering,  promptly,  with  an  accent 
that  brought  down  a  laugh  on  the  young  gentleman's  head. 

He  joined  in  it,  but  with  a  naif  uneasiness.  What's  the  matter 
with  the  woman  ?  —  his  vaguely  bewildered  face  seemed  to  inquire. 
After  all,  I'm  only  agreeing  with  her. 

'Few  of  us  have  time,  I  imagine,'  said  Filey,  'to  go  and  listen 
to  their  ravings.' 

As  Filey  was  quite  the  idlest  of  men,  without  the  preoccupation 
of  being  a  tolerable  sportsman  or  even  a  player  of  games,  Miss 
Levering's  little  laugh  was  echoed  by  others  beside  Lady  Sophia. 

'At  all  events,'  said  Vida  to  Lord  Borrodaile,  as  she  stood  up, 
and  he  drew  her  chair  out  of  her  way,  'even  if  we  don't  know  much 
about  these  women,  we've  spent  a  happy  hour  denouncing  them.' 

'Who's  going  to  have  a  short  round  before  sundown?'  said 
Lady  Sophia,  getting  up  briskly.  '  You,  of  course,  Mr.  Filey. 
Or  are  you  too  "busy"?' 

'  Say  too  thirsty.  May  I  ? '  He  carried  his  cup  round  to  Lady 
John,  not  seeming  to  see  Hermione's  hospitable  hand  held  out 
for  it. 

In  the  general  shuffle  Farnborough  found  himself  carried  off  by 
Sophia  and  Lord  John. 


THE   CONVERT  61 

'  Who  is  our  fourth  ? '  said  Lady  Sophia,  suddenly. 

'Oh,  Borrodaile ! '  Lord  John  stopped  halfway  across  the  lawn 
and  called  back,  'aren't  you  coming?' 

'It's  not  a  bit  of  use,'  said  Sophia.  'You'll  see.  He's  safe  to 
sit  there  and  talk  to  Miss  Levering  till  the  dressing-bell  rings.' 

'Isn't  she  a  nice  creature  1 '  said  Lord  John.  'I  can't  think  how 
a  woman  like  that  hasn't  got  some  nice  fella  to  marry  her ! ' 


'Would  you  like  to  see  my  yellow  garden,  Vida?'  Lady  John 
asked.  'It's  rather  glorious  at  this  moment.' 

Obvious  from  the  quick  lifting  of  the  eyes  that  the  guest  was  on 
the  point  of  welcoming  the  proposal,  had  Filey  not  swallowed  his 
belated  cup  of  tea  with  surprising  quickness  after  saying,  'What's 
a  yellow  garden?'  in  the  unmistakable  tone  of  one  bent  upon 
enlarging  his  experience.  Lady  John,  with  all  her  antennae  out, 
lost  no  time  in  saying  to  Vida  — 

'Perhaps  you're  a  little  tired.  Hermione,  you  show  Mr.  Filey 
the  garden.  And  maybe,  Lord  Borrodaile  would  like  to  see  it,  too.' 

Although  the  last-named  failed  to  share  the  enthusiasm  expected 
in  a  gardener,  he  pulled  his  long,  slackly-put-together  figure  out  of 
the  chair  and  joined  the  young  people. 

When  they  were  out  of  earshot,  'What's  the  matter?'  asked 
Lady  John. 

'Matter?' 

'Yes,  what  did  poor  Paul  say  to  make  you  fall  upon  him  like 
that?' 

'I  didn't  "fall  upon"  him,  did  I?' 

'Well,  yes,  I  rather  thought  you  did.' 

*  Oh,  I  suppose  I  —  perhaps  it  did  jar  on  me,  just  a  little,  to 
hear  a  cocksure  boy ' 

'He's  not  a  boy.     Paul  is  over  thirty.' 

'I  was  thinking  of  Dick  Farnborough,  too  —  talking  about 
women  like  that,  before  women.' 

'  Oh,  all  they  meant  was  — 

'Yes,  I  know.  Of  course  we  all  know  they  aren't  accustomed 
to  treating  our  sex  in  general  with  overmuch  respect  when  there 
are  only  men  present  —  but  —  do  you  think  it's  quite  decent  that 
they  should  be  so  free  with  their  contempt  of  women  before  us?' 


62  THE   CONVERT 

'  But,  my  dear  Vida !  That  sort  of  woman !  Haven't  they 
deserved  it?' 

'That's  just  what  nobody  seems  to  know.  I've  sat  and  listened 
to  conversations  like  the  one  at  tea  for  a  week  now,  and  I've  said 
as  much  against  those  women  as  anybody.  Only  to-day,  some 
how,  when  I  heard  that  boy  —  yes,  I  was  conscious  I  didn't 
like  it.' 

'You're  behaving  exactly  as  Dr.  Johnson  did  about  Garrick. 
You  won't  allow  any  one  to  abuse  those  women  but  yourself.' 

Lady  John  cleared  the  whole  trivial  business  away  with  a  laugh. 

'Now,  be  nice  to  Paul.  He's  dying  to  talk  to  you  about  his 
book.  Let  us  go  and  join  them  in  the  garden.  See  if  you  can 
stand  before  my  yellow  blaze  and  not  feel  melted.' 

The  elder  woman  and  the  younger  went  down  the  terrace 
through  a  little  copse  to  her  ladyship's  own  area  of  experimenta 
tion.  A  gate  of  old  Florentine  scrolled  iron  opened  suddenly  upon 
a  blaze  of  yellow  in  all  the  shades  from  the  orange  velvet  of  the 
wallflower  through  the  shaded  saffron  of  azalias  and  a  dozen  tints 
of  tulip  to  the  palest  primrose  and  jonquil. 

The  others  were  walking  round  the  enclosing  grass  paths  that 
served  as  broad  green  border,  and  Filey,  who  had  been  in  all  sorts 
of  queer  places,  said  the  yellow  garden  made  him  think  of  a  Mexi 
can  scrape —  'one  of  those  silk  scarves,  you  know  —  native  weav 
ing  made  out  of  the  pineapple  fibre.' 

But  Vida  only  said,  'Yes.     It's  a  good  scheme  of  colour.' 

She  sat  on  the  rustic  seat  while  Lady  John  explained  to  Lord 
Borrodaile,  whose  gardens  were  renowned,  how  she  and  Simonson 
treated  this  and  that  plant  to  get  so  fine  a  result.  Filey  had  lost  no 
time  in  finding  a  place  for  himself  by  Miss  Levering,  while  Her- 
mione  trailed  dutifully  round  the  garden  with  the  others.  Occa 
sionally  she  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the  two  on  the  seat  by 
the  sunken  wall  —  Vida  leaning  back  in  the  corner  motionless, 
absolutely  inexpressive ;  Filey's  eager  face  bent  forward.  He  was 
moving  his  hands  in  a  way  he  had  learned  abroad. 

'You  were  rather  annoyed  with  me,'  he  was  saying.  'I  saw 
that.' 

The  lady  did  not  deny  the  imputation. 

'  But  you  oughtn't  to  be.  Because  you  see  it's  only  because  my 
ideal  of  woman  is '  —  again  that  motion  of  the  hands  —  '  what 


THE   CONVERT  63 

it  is,  that  when  I  see  her  stepping  down  from  her  pedestal  I  — 
the  hands  indicated  consternation,  followed  hard  by  cataclysmic 
ruin.     'Of  course,  lots  of  men  don't  care.     I  do.     I   care  enor 
mously,  and  so  you  must  forgive  me.     Won't  you?'     He  bent 
nearer. 

'Oh,  I've  nothing  to  forgive.' 

'I  know  without  your  telling  me,  I  feel  instinctively,  you  more 
than  most  people  —  you'd  simply  loathe  the  sort  of  thing  we  were 
talking  about  at  tea  —  women  yelling  and  fighting  men  — 

'Yes  —  yes,  don't  go  all  over  that' 

'No,  of  course  I  won't,'  he  said  soothingly.  'I  can  feel  it  to 
my  very  spine,  how  you  shrink  from  such  horrors.' 

Miss  Levering,  raising  her  eyes  suddenly,  caught  the  look  Her- 
mione  cast  backward  as  Lady  John  halted  her  party  a  moment 
near  the  pansy-strip  in  the  gorgeous  yellow  carpet  spread  out 
before  them. 

'Don't  you  want  to  sit  down?'  Vida  called  out  to  the  girl, 
drawing  aside  her  gown. 

'What?'  said  Hermione,  though  she  had  heard  quite  well. 
Slowly  she  retraced  her  steps  down  the  grass  path  as  if  to  .have 
the  words  repeated. 

But  if  Miss  Levering's  idea  had  been  to  change  the  conversation, 
she  was  disappointed.  There  was  nothing  Paul  Filey  liked  better 
than  an  audience,  and  he  had  already  the  impression  that  Miss 
Heriot  was  what  he  would  have  scorned  to  call  anything  but 
'simpatica.' 

'I'm  sure  you've  shown  the  new  garden  to  dozens  already,'  Miss 
Levering  said  to  the  niece  of  the  house.  'Sit  down  and  confess 
you've  had  enough  of  it ! ' 

'Oh,  I  don't  think,'  began  Hermione,  suavely,  'that  one  ever 
gets  too  much  of  a  thing  like  that ! ' 

'There !  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  How  can  we  have  too 
much  beauty!'  exclaimed  Filey,  receiving  the  new  occupant  of 
the  seat  as  a  soul  worthy  of  high  fellowship.  Then  he  leaned 
across  Miss  Heriot  and  said  to  the  lady  in  the  corner,  'I'm  making 
that  the  theme  of  my  book.' 

'Oh,  I  heard  you  were  writing  something.' 

'Yes,  a  sort  of  plea  for  the  aesthetic  basis  of  society!  It's  the 
only  cure  for  the  horrors  of  modern  civilization  —  for  the  very 


64  THE   CONVERT 

thing  we  were  talking  about  at  tea !  What  is  it  but  a  loss  of  the 
sense  of  beauty  that's  to  blame  ? '  Elbows  on  knees,  he  leaned  so 
far  forward  that  he  could  see  both  faces,  and  yet  his  own  betrayed 
the  eye  turned  inward  —  the  face  of  the  one  who  quotes.  The 
ladies  knew  that  he  was  obliging  them  with  a  memorized  extract 
from  *  A  Plea  for  the  ^Esthetic  Basis.'  '  Nothing  worse  can  happen 
to  the  world  than  loss  of  its  sense  of  Beauty.  Men,  high  and  low 
alike,  cling  to  it  still  as  incarnated  in  women.'  (Hermione  crossed 
her  pointed  toes  and  lowered  her  long  eyelashes.)  '  We  have  made 
Woman  the  object  of  our  deepest  adoration!  We  have  set  her 
high  on  a  throne  of  gold.  We  have  searched  through  the  world 
for  jewels  to  crown  her.  We  have  built  millions  of  temples  to  our 
ideal  of  womanhood  and  called  them  homes.  We  have  fought 
and  wrought  and  sung  for  her  —  and  all  we  ask  in  return  is  that 
she  should  tend  the  sacred  fire,  so  that  the  light  of  Beauty  might 
not  die  out  of  the  world.'  He  was  not  ill-pleased  with  his  period. 
'  But  women '  —  he  leaned  back,  and  illustrated  with  the  pliant 
white  hands  that  were  ornamented  with  outlandish  rings  — '  women 
are  not  content  with  their  high  and  holy  office.' 

'Some  women,'  amended  Hermione,  softly. 

'There  are  more  and  more  every  day  who  are  not  content,'  he 
said  sternly;  then,  for  an  instant  unbending  and  craning  a  little 
forward,  '  Of  course  I  don't  mean  you  —  you  are  exceptions  — 
but  of  women  in  the  mass  1  Look  at  them  !  They  force  their  way 
into  men's  work,  they  crowd  into  the  universities  —  yes,  yes'  (in 
vain  Hermione  tried  to  reassure  him  by  'exceptions')  —  'Beauty 
is  nothing  to  them !  They  fling  aside  their  delicate,  provocative 
draperies,  they  cast  off  their  scented  sandals.  They  pull  on  brown 
boots  and  bicycling  skirts !  They  put  man's  yoke  of  hard  linen 
round  their  ivory  throats,  and  they  scramble  off  their  jewelled 
thrones  to  mount  the  rostrum  and  the  omnibus ! ' 

'Why?  Why  do  they?'  Vida  demanded,  laughing.  'Nobody 
ever  tells  me  why.  I  can't  believe  they're  as  unselfish  as  you 
make  out.' 

'I!' 

'  You  ought  to  admire  them  if  they  voluntarily  give  up  all  those 
beautiful  things  —  knowing  beforehand  they'll  only  win  men's 
scorn.  For  you've  always  warned  them  ! ' 

He  didn't  even  hear.     'Ah,  Ladies,  Ladies !'  half  laughing,  but 


THE   CONVERT  65 

really  very  much  in  earnest,  he  apostrophized  the  peccant  sex,  'I 
should  like  to  ask,  are  we  men  to  look  upon  our  homes  as  dusty 
din-filled  camps  on  the  field  of  battle,  or  as  holy  temples  of  Peace  ? 
Ah ! '  He  leaned  back  in  his  corner,  stretched  out  his  long  legs, 
and  thrust  his  restless  hands  in  his  pockets.  '  If  they  knew ! ' 

'  Women  ? '  asked  Hermione,  with  the  air  of  one  painstakingly 
brushing  up  crumbs  of  wisdom. 

Paul  Filey  nodded. 

'Knew ?' 

1  They  would  see  that  in  the  ugly  scramble  they  had  let  fall  their 
crowns !  If  they  only  knew,'  he  repeated,  'they  would  go  back  to 
their  thrones,  and,  with  the  sceptre  of  beauty  in  one  hand  and  the 
orb  of  purity  in  the  other,  they  would  teach  men  to  worship  them 
again.' 

'And  then?'  said  Miss  Levering. 

'Then?  Why,  men  will  fall  on  their  knees  before  them.'  As 
Miss  Levering  made  no  rejoinder, '  What  greater  victory  do  women 
want?'  he  demanded. 

For  the  first  time  Miss  Levering  bent  her  head  forward  slightly 
as  though  to  see  how  far  he  was  conscious  of  the  fatuity  of  his 
climax.  But  his  flushed  face  showed  a  childlike  good  faith. 

'  Eh  ?    Will  any  one  tell  me  what  they  want  ? ' 

'Since  you  need  to  ask,'  said  the  gently  smiling  woman  in  the 
corner,  'perhaps  there's  more  need  to  show  than  I'd  quite  realized.' 

'I  don't  think  you  quite  followed,'  he  began,  with  an  air  of  for 
bearance.  '  What  I  mean  is  — 

Miss  Levering  jumped  up.  '  Lord  Borrodaile  I '  He  was  stand 
ing  at  the  little  iron  gate  waiting  for  his  hostess,  who  had  stopped 
to  speak  to  one  of  the  gardeners.  '  Wait  a  moment ! '  Vida  called, 
and  went  swiftly  down  the  grass  path.  He  had  turned  and  was 
advancing  to  meet  her.  'No,  come  away,'  she  said  under  her 
breath,  '  come  away  quickly '  —  (safe  on  the  other  side  of  the  gate) 
—  'and  talk  to  me  !  Tell  me  about  old,  half -forgotten  pictures  or 
about  young  rose  trees.' 

'Is  something  the  matter?' 

'I'm  ruffled.' 

'Who  has  ruffled  you?'  His  tone  was  as  serene  as  it  was 
sympathetic. 

'Several  people.' 


66  THE   CONVERT 

'Why,  I  thought  you  were  never  ruffled.' 

'I'm  not,  often.' 

They  turned  down  into  a  little  green  aisle  between  two  dense 
thickets  of  rhododendrons. 

'It's  lucky  you  are  here/  she  said  irrelevantly. 

He  glanced  at  her  face. 

'It's  not  luck.     It's  foresight.' 

'Oh,  you  arranged  it?    Well,  I'm  glad.' 

'  So  am  I,'  he  answered  quietly.  '  We  get  on  rather  well  together/ 
he  added,  after  a  moment. 

She  nodded  half  absently.  'I  feel  as  if  I'd  known  you  for  years 
instead  of  for  months/  she  said. 

'Yes,  I  have  rather  that  feeling,  too.  Except  that  I'm  always 
a  little  nervous  when  I  meet  you  again  after  an  interval.' 

'Nervous/  she  frowned.     'Why  nervous?' 

'I'm  always  afraid  you'll  have  some  news  for  me.' 

'What  news?' 

'  Oh,  the  usual  thing.  That  a  pleasant  friendship  is  going  to  be 
interrupted  if  not  broken  by  some  one's  carrying  you  off.  It 
would  be  a  pity,  you  know.' 

'Then  you  don't  agree  with  Lord  John.' 

'  Oh,  I  suppose  you  ought  to  marry/  he  said,  with  smiling  im 
patience,  'and  I'm  very  sure  you  will !  But  I  shan't  like  it'  —  he 
wound  up  with  an  odd  little  laugh  — 'and  neither  will  you.' 

'It's  an  experiment  I  shall  never  try.' 

He  smiled,  but  as  he  glanced  at  her  he  grew  grave.  'I've  heard 
more  than  one  young  woman  say  that,  but  you  look  as  if  it  might 
really  be  so.' 

'It  is  so.' 

He  waited,  and  then,  switching  at  the  wild  hyacinths  with  his 
stick  - 

'Of  course/  he  said,  'I  have  no  right  to  suppose  you  are  going 
to  give  me  your  reasons.' 

'No.  That's  why  I  shall  never  even  consider  marrying  —  so 
that  I  shall  not  have  to  set  out  my  reasons.' 

He  had  never  seen  that  look  in  her  face  before.  He  made  an 
effort  to  put  aside  the  trouble  of  it,  saying  almost  lightly  - 

'  I  often  wonder  why  people  can't  be  happy  as  they  are  ! ' 

'They  think  of  the  future,  I  suppose.' 


THE   CONVERT  67 

'There's  no  such  thing  as  the  future.' 

'You  can't  say  there's  no  such  thing  as  growth.  If  it's  only  a 
garden,  it's  natural  to  like  to  see  life  unfolding  —  that's  the  future.' 

'  Yes,  in  spite  of  resolutions,  you'll  be  trying  the  great  experi 
ment.'  He  said  it  wearily. 

'  Why  should  you  mind  so  ? '  she  asked  curiously ;  '  you  are  not 
in  love  with  me.' 

'How  do  you  know?' 

'Because  you  give  me  such  a  sense  of  rest.' 

'Thank  you.'  He  caught  himself  up.  'Or  perhaps  I  should 
thank  my  grey  hair.' 

'Grey  hair  doesn't  bring  the  thing  I  mean.  I've  sometimes 
wished  it  did.  But  our  friendship  is  an  uncommonly  peaceful 
one,  don't  you  think?' 

'Yes;  I  think  it  is,'  he  said.  'All  the  same,  you  know  there's 
a  touch  of  magic  in  it.'  But,  as  though  to  condone  the  confession, 
'You  haven't  told  me  why  you  were  ruffled.' 

'It's  nothing.     I  dare  say  I  was  a  little  tired.' 

They  had  come  out  into  the  park.  'I  hurried  so  to  catch  the 
train.  My  sister's  new  coachman  is  stupid  about  finding  short 
cuts  in  London,  and  we  got  blocked  by  a  procession  —  a  horrible 
sort  of  demonstration,  you  know.' 

'Oh,  the  unemployed.' 

'Yes.  And  I  got  so  tired  of  leaning  out  of  the  window  and 
shouting  directions  that  I  left  the  maid  and  the  luggage  to  come 
later.  I  got  out  of  the  brougham  and  ran  through  a  slum,  or  I'd 
have  lost  my  train.  I  nearly  lost  it  anyway,  because  I  saw  a  queer 
picture  that  made  me  stop.'  She  stopped  again  at  the  mere 
memory  of  it. 

'In  a  second-hand  shop?' 

He  turned  his  pointed  face  to  her,  and  the  grey-green  eyes  wore 
a  gleam  of  interest  that  few  things  could  arouse  in  their  cool  depths. 

'No,  not  in  a  shop.'  She  stopped  and  leaned  against  a  tree. 
'In  the  street.  It  was  a  middle-aged  workman.  When  I  caught 
sight  of  his  back  and  saw  his  worn  clothes  —  the  coat  went  up  in 
the  middle,  and  had  that  despairing  sag  on  both  sides  —  it  crossed 
my  mind,  here's  another  of  those  miserable,  unemployed  wastrels 
obstructing  my  way  !  Then  he  looked  round  and  I  saw  —  solid 
content  in  his  face  ! '  She  stopped  a  moment. 


68  THE   CONVERT 

'So  he  wasn't  one  of  the ' 

'Well,  I  wondered.  I  couldn't  see  at  first  what  it  was  he  had 
looked  round  at.  Then  I  noticed  he  had  a  rope  in  his  hand,  and 
was  dragging  something.  As  the  people  who  had  been  between 
us  hurried  on  I  saw  —  I  saw  a  child,  two  or  three  years  old,  in  a 
flapping,  pink  sun-bonnet.  He  was  sitting  astride  a  toy  horse. 
The  horse  was  clumsily  made,  and  had  lost  its  tail.  But  it  had 
its  head  still,  and  the  board  it  was  mounted  on  had  fat,  wooden 
rollers.  The  horse  was  only  about  that  long,  and  so  near  the 
ground  that,  for  all  his  advantage  in  the  matter  of  rollers,  still  the 
little  rider's  feet  touched  the  pavement.  They  even  trailed  and 
lurched,  as  the  horse  went  on,  in  that  funny,  spasmodic  gait.  The 
child  had  to  half  walk,  or,  rather,  make  the  motions  —  you  know, 
without  actually  bearing  any  of  even  his  own  weight.  The  slack- 
shouldered  man  did  it  all.  I  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
and  stood  and  watched  them  till,  as  I  say,  I  nearly  lost  my  train. 
The  dingy  workman,  smoking  imperturbably,  dragging  the  gro 
tesque,  almost  hidden,  horse  —  the  delighted  child  in  the  flapping 
sun-bonnet — the  crisis  when  they  came  to  the  crossing !  The  man 
turned  and  called  out  something.  The  child  declined  to  budge. 
I  wondered  what  would  happen.  So  did  the  man.  He  waited  a 
moment,  and  puffed  smoke  and  considered.  The  baby  dug  his 
heels  in  the  pavement  and  shouted.  Then  I  saw  the  man  carefully 
tilt  the  toy  horse  up  by  the  rope.  I  stood  and  watched  the  success 
ful  surmounting  of  the  obstacle,  and  the  triumphant  progress  as 
before  —  sun-bonnet  flapping,  smoke  curling.  Of  course  the  man 
was  content !  He  had  lost  the  battle.  You  saw  that  in  his  lined 
face.  What  did  it  matter  ?  He  held  the  future  by  a  string.' 

Lord  Borrodaile  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her.  Without  a 
word  the  two  walked  on. 

The  first  to  speak  after  the  silence  was  the  man.  He  pointed 
out  a  curious  effect  of  the  light,  and  reminded  her  who  had  painted 
it  best  — 

1  Corot  could  do  these  things ! '  —  and  he  flung  a  stone  in  passing 
at  the  New  Impressionists. 

At  the  Lodge  Gate  they  found  Lady  John  with  Filey  and  Her- 
mione. 

1  We  thought  if  we  walked  this  way  we  might  meet  Jean  and  her 
bodyguard.  But  I  mustn't  go  any  further.'  Lady  John  consulted 


THE   CONVERT  69 

her  watch.     '  The  rest  of  you  can  take  your  time,  but  I  have  to  go 
and  receive  my  other  guest.' 

•    Filey  and  Hermione  were  still  at  the  gate.     The  girl  had  caught 
sight  of  Farnborough  being  driven  by  the  park  road  to  the  station. 

'  Oh,  I  do  believe  it's  the  new  mare  they're  trying  in  the  dogcart,' 
said  Hermione.  '  Let's  wait  and  see  her  go  by.' 

Borrodaile  and  his  companion  kept  at  Lady  John's  side. 

'I'm  glad,'  said  Vida,  'that  I  shall  at  last  make  acquaintance 
with  your  Jean.' 

'Yes;  it's  odd  your  never  having  met,  especially  as  she  knows 
your  cousins  at  Bishopsmead  so  well.' 

'I've  been  so  little  in  England ' 

'Yes,  I  know.  A  great  business  it  is,'  Lady  John  explained  to 
Lord  Borrodaile,  'each  time  to  get  that  crusty  old  Covenanter, 
Jean's  grandfather,  to  allow  her  to  stay  at  Bishopsmead.  So  it's 
the  sadder  for  them  to  have  her  visit  cut  short.' 

'Why  is  it  cut  short?'  he  asked. 

'  Because  the  hostess  took  to  her  bed  yesterday  with  a  chill,  and 
her  temperature  was  a  hundred  and  one  this  afternoon.' 

'Really?'  said  Miss  Levering.     'I  hadn't  heard ' 

'  She  is  rather  bad,  I'm  afraid.  We  are  taking  over  another  of 
her  guests.  Of  course  you  know  him  —  Geoffrey  Stonor.' 

'Taking  him  over?'  Miss  Levering  repeated. 

'Yes;  he  was  originally  going  to  Bishopsmead  this  week-end, 
but  as  he's  been  promising  for  ages  to  come  here,  it's  been  arranged 
that  we  should  take  him  off  their  hands.  Of  course  we're  delighted. ' 

Miss  Levering  walked  on,  between  her  two  companions,  look 
ing  straight  in  front  of  her.  As  Lady  John,  with  a  glance  at  her 
watch,  quickened  the  pace  — 

'I'm  rather  unhappy  at  what  you  tell  me  about  my  cousin,'  said 
Vida.  'She's  a  delicate  creature.'  Then,  as  though  acting  on  a 
sudden  impulse,  Vida  paused.  'You  mustn't  mind,  Lady  John, 
but  I  shall  have  to  go  to  her.  Can  I  have  a  trap  of  some  sort  to 
take  me  over?  ' 

She  put  aside  the  objections  with  a  gentle  but  unmistakable  de 
cision  that  made  Lady  John  say  — 

'I'm  sure  I've  alarmed  you  more  than  there  was  the  least  need 
for.  But  the  carriage  shall  wait  and  bring  you  back  just  as  soon 
as  you've  satisfied  yourself.' 


70  THE  CONVERT 

'  I  can't  tell,  of  course,  till  I've  seen  Mary.  But  may  my  maid 
be  told  not  to  unpack ' 

'Not  unpack!' 

'In  case  I  have  to  send  for  my  things.' 

'My  dear!'  Lady  John  stopped  short  for  very  vexation. 
'Don't  desert  us!  I've  been  so  congratulating  myself  on  having 
you,  since  I  knew  Geoffrey  Stonor  was  coming.'  Again  she 
glanced  nervously  at  her  watch.  '  He  is  due  in  ten  minutes ! 
John  won't  like  it  if  I'm  not  there.' 

As  she  was  about  to  hurry  on,  the  other  slackened  pace.  She 
seemed  to  be  revolving  some  further  plan. 

'  Why  shouldn't '  —  she  turned  suddenly  —  '  why  shouldn't  the 
dogcart  take  me  on  after  dropping  Mr.  Farnborough  at  the  station  ? 
Yes,  that  will  be  simplest.  Mr.  Farnborough !'  she  waved  to  him 
as  the  cart  came  in  sight,  '  Wait !  Good-bye  !  Forgive  my  rush 
ing  off,  won't  you  ? '  she  called  back  over  her  shoulder,  and  then 
with  that  swift,  light  step  of  hers,  she  covered  by  a  short  cut  the 
little  distance  that  lay  between  her  and  the  lodge  gate. 

'I  wish  I'd  held  my  tongue,'  said  Lady  John  almost  angrily  as 
she  hastened  in  the  opposite  direction.  Already  some  sense 
seemed  to  reach  her  of  the  hopelessness  of  expecting  Vida's  return. 
'I  didn't  dream  she  cared  so  much  for  that  dull  cousin  of  hers  I' 

'  Do  you  think  she  really  does  ? '   said  Borrodaile,  dryly. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ABOUT  Vida's  little  enterprise  on  a  certain  Sunday  a  few  weeks 
later  was  an  air  of  elaborate  mystery.  Yet  the  expedition  was  no 
further  than  to  Trafalgar  Square.  It  was  there  that  those  women, 
the  so-called  'Suffragettes,'  in  the  intervals  of  making  worse  public 
disturbances,  were  rumoured  to  be  holding  open-air  meetings  — 
a  circumstance  distinctly  fortunate  for  any  one  who  wanted  to 
'see  what  they  were  like,'  and  who  was  yet  unwilling  to  commit 
herself  by  doing  anything  so  eccentric  as  publicly  to  seek  admission 
under  any  roof  known  to  show  hospitality  to  'such  goings  on.' 
In  those  days,  only  a  year  ago,  and  yet  already  such  ancient  his 
tory  that  the  earlier  pages  are  forgotten  and  scarce  credible  if 
recalled,  it  took  courage  to  walk  past  the  knots  of  facetious  loafers, 
and  the  unblushing  Suffragette  poster,  into  the  hall  where  the 
meetings  were  held.  Deliberately  to  sit  down  among  odd,  mis 
guided  persons  in  rows,  to  listen  to,  and  by  so  much  to  lend  pub 
lic  countenance  to  '  women  of  that  sort '  —  the  sort  that  not  only 
wanted  to  vote  (quaint  creatures!),  but  were  not  content  with 
merely  wanting  to  —  for  the  average  conventional  woman  to  ven 
ture  upon  a  step  so  compromising,  to  risk  seeming  for  a  moment 
to  take  these  crazy  brawlers  seriously,  was  to  lay  herself  open  to 
*  the  comic  laugh '  —  most  dreaded  of  all  the  weapons  in  the  social 
armoury.  But  it  was  something  wholly  different  to  set  out  for  a 
Sunday  Afternoon  Concert,  or  upon  some  normal  and  recognized 
philanthropic  errand,  and  on  the  way  find  one's  self  arrested  for  a 
few  minutes  by  seeing  a  crowd  gathered  in  a  public  square.  Yet  it 
had  not  been  easy  to  screw  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  up  to  thinking  even 
this  non-committal  measure  a  possible  one  to  pursue.  'What 
would  anybody  think,'  she  had  asked  Vida,  'to  see  them  lending 
even  the  casual  support  of  a  presence  (however  ironic)  to  so  rep 
rehensible  a  spectacle ! '  Had  it  not  been  for  very  faith  in  the 
eccentricity  of  the  proceeding  —  one  wildly  unlikely  to  be  adopted, 
Mrs.  Fox-Moore  felt,  by  any  one  else  of  'their  kind'  —  she  would 
never  have  consented  to  be  drawn  into  Vida's  absurd  project. 

71 


72  THE   CONVERT 

Of  course  it  was  absolutely  essential  to  disguise  the  object  of 
the  outing  from  Mr.  Fox-Moore.  Not  merely  because  with  the 
full  weight  of  his  authority  he  would  most  assuredly  have  for 
bidden  it,  but  because  of  a  nervous  prefiguring  on  his  wife's  part 
of  the  particular  things  he  would  say,  and  the  particular  way  he 
would  look  in  setting  his  extinguisher  on  the  enterprise. 

Vida,  from  the  first,  had  never  explained  or  excused  herself  to 
him,  so  that  when  he  asked  at  luncheon  what  she  was  going  to  do 
with  this  fine  Sunday  afternoon,  she  had  simply  smiled,  and  said, 
'  Oh,  I  have  a  tryst  to  keep.' 

It  was  her  sister  who  added  anxiously,  'Is  Wood  leading  now 
at  the  Queen's  Hall  Concerts?'  And  so,  without  actually  com 
mitting  herself  to  a  lie,  gave  the  impression  that  music  was  to  be 
their  quest. 

An  hour  later,  while  the  old  man  was  nursing  his  gout  by  the 
library  window,  he  saw  the  ladies  getting  into  a  hansom.  In  spite 
of  the  inconvenience  to  his  afflicted  member  he  got  up  and  opened 
the  window. 

'  Don't  tell  me  you're  doing  anything  so  rational  —  you  two  — 
as  going  to  a  concert.' 

'Why  do  you  say  that?  You  know  I  never  like  to  take  the 
horses  out  on  Sunday ' 

*  Rubbish  !  You  think  a  dashing,  irresponsible  hansom  is  more 
in  keeping  with  the  Factory  Girls'  Club  or  some  giddy  White- 
chapel  frivolity!' 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  gave  her  sister  a  look  of  miserable  apprehen 
sion;  but  the  younger  woman  laughed  and  waved  a  hand.  She 
knew  that,  even  more  than  the  hansom,  their  'get  up'  had  given 
them  away.  It  must  be  confessed  she  had  felt  quite  as  strongly 
as  her  sister  that  it  wouldn't  do  to  be  recognized  at  a  Suffragette 
meeting.  Even  as  a  nameless  '  fine  lady '  standing  out  from  a  mob 
of  the  dowdy  and  the  dirty,  to  be  stared  at  by  eyes  however  undis- 
cerning,  under  circumstances  so  questionable,  would  be  distinctly 
distasteful. 

So,  reversing  the  order  of  Nature,  the  butterfly  had  retired  into 
a  'grubby'  state.  In  other  words,  Vida  had  put  on  the  plainest 
of  her  discarded  mourning-gowns.  From  a  small  Tuscan  straw 
travelling-toque,  the  new  maid,  greatly  wondering  at  such  instruc 
tions,  had  extracted  an  old  paste  buckle  and  some  violets,  leaving 


THE   CONVERT  73 

it  'not  fit  to  be  seen.'     In  spite  of  having  herself  taken  these  pre 
cautions,  Vida  had  broken  into  uncontrollable  smiles  at  the  appari 
tion  of  Mrs.  Fox-Moore,  asking  with  pride  — 
'  Will  I  do  ?    I  look  quite  like  a  Woman  of  the  People,  don't  I  ? ' 
The  unconscious  humour  of  the  manifestation  filled  Miss  Lever 
ing  with  an  uneasy  merriment  every  time  she  turned  her  eyes  that 
way. 

Little  as  Mr.  Fox-Moore  thought  of  his  wife's  taste,  either  in 
clothes  or  in  amusements,  he  would  have  been  more  mystified  than 
ever  he  had  been  in  his  life  had  he  seen  her  hansom,  ten  minutes 
later,  stop  on  the  north  side  of  Trafalgar  Square,  opposite  the 
National  Gallery. 

'Look  out  and  see,'  she  said,  retiring  guiltily  into  the  corner  of 
the  conveyance.  '  Are  they  there  ? '  And  it  was  plain  that  nothing 
could  more  have  relieved  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  at  that  moment  than 
to  hear  'they'  were  not. 

But  Vida,  glancing  discreetly  out  of  the  side  window,  had  said  — 
'  There  ?  I  should  think  they  are  —  and  a  crowd  round  them 
already.  Look  at  their  banners  ! '  and  she  laughed  as  she  leaned 
out  and  read  the  legend,  'We  demand  VOTES  FOR  WOMEN' 
inscribed  in  black  letters  on  the  white  ground  of  two  pieces  of 
sheeting  stretched  each  between  a  pair  of  upright  poles,  standing 
one  on  either  side  of  the  plinth  of  Nelson's  column.  In  the  very 
middle,  and  similarly  supported,  was  a  banner  of  blood  red.  Upon 
this  one,  in  great  white  letters,  appeared  the  legend  — 

'EFFINGHAM,   THE   ENEMY 

OF 

WOMEN  AND  THE  WORKERS.' 

As  Vida  read  it  out  — 

'What/'  ejaculated  her  sister.  'They  haven't  really  got  that 
on  a  banner!'  And  so  intrigued  was  she  that,  like  some  shy 
creature  dwelling  in  a  shell,  cautiously  she  protruded  her  head  out 
of  the  shiny,  black  sheath  of  the  hansom. 

But  as  she  did  so  she  met  the  innocent  eye  of  a  passer-by,  tired 
of  craning  his  neck  to  look  back  at  the  meeting.  With  precipita 
tion  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  withdrew  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  the 
black  shell. 


74  THE   CONVERT 

'  Come,  Janet/  said  Vida,  who  had  meanwhile  jumped  out  and 
settled  the  fare. 

'Did  that  man  know  us?'  asked  the  other, lifting  up  the  flap 
from  the  back  window  of  the  hansom  and  peering  out. 

'No,  I  don't  think  so.' 

'He  stared,  Vida.     He  certainly  stared  very  hard.' 

Still  she  hesitated,  clinging  to  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  hansom. 

'  Oh,  come  on  !  He  only  stared  because He  took  you  for 

a  Suffragette ! '  But  the  indiscretion  lit  so  angry  a  light  in  the 
lady's  eye,  that  Vida  was  fain  to  add,  'No,  no,  do  come  —  and  I'll 
tell  you  what  he  was  really  looking  at.' 

'What?'  said  Mrs.  Fox-Moore,  putting  out  her  head  again. 

'He  was  struck,'  said  Vida,  biting  her  lip  to  repress  smiles,  'by 
the  hat  of  the  Woman  of  the  People.' 

But  the  lady  was  too  entirely  satisfied  with  her  hat  to  mind  Vida's 
poking  fun  at  it. 

'"Emngham,  the  Enemy!"'  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  read  for  herself 
as  they  approached  the  flaunting  red  banner.  'How  perfectly 
outrageous ! ' 

'How  perfectly  silly!7  amended  the  other,  'when  one  thinks  of 
that  kind  and  charming  Pillar  of  Excellence ! ' 

'I  told  you  they  were  mad  as  well  as  bad.' 

'Ikrtow;  and  now  we're  going  to  watch  them  prove  it.     Comeon.' 

'Why,  they've  stopped  the  fountains!'  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  spoke 
as  though  detecting  an  additional  proof  of  turpitude.  'Those  two 
policemen,'  she  went  on,  in  a  whisper,  'why  are  they  looking  at  us 
like  that?' 

Vida  glanced  at  the  men.  Their  eyes  were  certainly  fixed  on 
the  two  ladies  in  a  curious,  direct  fashion,  not  exactly  impudent, 
but  still  in  a  way  no  policeman  had  ever  looked  at  either  of  them 
before.  A  coolly  watchful,  slightly  contemptuous  stare,  inter 
rupted  by  one  man  turning  to  say  something  to  the  other,  at  which 
both  grinned.  Vida  was  conscious  of  wishing  that  she  had  come 
in  her  usual  clothes  —  above  all,  that  Janet  had  not  raked  out 
that  'jumble  sale'  object  she  had  perched  on  her  head. 

The  wearer  of  the  incriminatory  hat,  acting  upon  some  quite 
unanalyzed  instinct  to  range  herself  unmistakably  on  the  side  of 
law  and  order,  paused  as  they  were  passing  the  two  policemen  and 
addressed  them  with  dignity. 


THE   CONVERT  75 

1  Is  it  safe  to  stop  and  listen  for  a  few  minutes  to  these  people  ? ' 

The  men  looked  at  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  with  obvious  suspicion. 

'I  cawn't  say/  said  the  one  nearest. 

'Do  you  expect  any  trouble?'  she  demanded. 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then  the  other  policeman  said  with  a 
decidedly  snubby  air  — 

'It  ain't  our  business  to  go  lookiri*  fur  trouble;'  and  he  turned 
his  eyes  away. 

'Of  course  not/  said  Vida,  pleasantly,  coming  to  her  sister's 
rescue.  'All  this  lady  wants  to  be  assured  of  is  that  there  are 
enough  of  you  present  to  make  it  safe  — 

'If  ladies  wants  to  be  safe/  said  number  one,  'they'd  better  stop 
in  their  'omes.' 

'That's  the  first  rude  policeman  I  ever '  began  Mrs.  Fox- 
Moore,  as  they  went  on. 

'Well,  you  know  he's  only  echoing  what  we  all  say.' 

Vida  was  looking  over  the  crowd  to  where  on  the  plinth  of  the 
historic  column  the  little  group  of  women  and  a  solitary  man  stood 
out  against  the  background  of  the  banners.  Here  they  were  — 
these  new  Furies  that  pursued  the  agreeable  men  one  sat  by  at 
dinner  —  men  who,  it  was  well  known,  devoted  their  lives  —  when 
they  weren't  dining  —  to  the  welfare  of  England.  But  were  these 
frail,  rather  depressed-looking  women  —  were  they  indeed  the 
ones,  outrageously  daring,  who  broke  up  meetings  and  bashed  in 
policemen's  helmets  ?  Nothing  very  daring  in  their  aspect  to-day 
—  a  little  weary  and  preoccupied  they  looked,  as  they  stood  up 
there  in  twos  and  threes,  talking  to  one  another  in  that  exposed 
position  of  theirs,  while  from  time  to  time  about  their  ears  like 
spent  bullets  flew  the  spasmodic  laughter  and  rude  comment 
of  the  crowd  —  strangely  unconscious,  those  'blatant  sensation- 
mongers/  of  the  thousand  eyes  and  the  sea  of  upturned  faces ! 

'  Not  quite  what  I  expected ! '  said  Mrs.  Fox-Moore,  with  an 
unmistakable  accent  of  disappointment.  It  was  plainly  her  mean 
ing  that  to  a  general  reprehensibleness,  dulness  was  now  super- 
added. 

'Perhaps  these  are  not  the  ones/  said  Vida,  catching  at  hope. 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  took  heart.  'Suppose  we  find  out/  she  sug 
gested. 

They  had  penetrated  the  fringe  of  a  gathering  composed  largely 


76  THE   CONVERT 

of  weedy  youths  and  wastrel  old  men.  A  few  there  were  who 
looked  like  decent  artizans,  but  more  who  bore  the  unmistakable 
aspect  of  the  beery  out-of-work.  Among  the  strangely  few  women, 
were  two  or  three  girls  of  the  domestic  servant  or  Strand  Restaurant 
cashier  class  —  wearers  of  the  cheap  lace  blouse  and  the  wax  bead 
necklace. 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore,  forgetting  some  of  her  reluctance  now  that 
she  was  on  the  spot,  valiantly  followed  Vida  as  the  younger  woman 
threaded  her  way  among  the  constantly  increasing  crowd.  Just 
in  front  of  where  the  two  came  to  a  final  standstill  was  a  quiet- 
looking  old  man  with  a  lot  of  unsold  Sunday  papers  under  one  arm 
and  wearing  like  an  apron  the  bill  of  the  Sunday  Times.  Many  of 
the  boys  and  young  men  were  smoking  cigarettes.  Some  of  the 
older  men  had  pipes.  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  commented  on  the  inferior 
taste  in  tobacco  as  shown  by  the  lower  orders.  But  she,  too,  kept 
her  eyes  glued  to  the  figures  up  there  on  the  plinth. 

*  They've  had  to  get  men  to  hold  up  their  banners  for  them,' 
laughed  Vida,  as  though  she  saw  a  symbolism  in  the  fact,  further 
convicting  these  women  of  folly. 

'But  there's  a  well-dressed  man  —  that  one  who  isn't  holding 
up  anything  that  I  can  see  —  what  on  earth  is  he  doing  there  ? ' 

'Perhaps  he'll  be  upholding  something  later.' 

'Going  to  speak,  you  mean?' 

'It  may  be  a  debate.  Perhaps  he's  going  to  present  the  other 
side.' 

'Well,  if  he  does,  I  hope  he'll  tell  them  plainly  what  he  thinks 
of  them.' 

She  said  it  quite  distinctly  for  the  benefit  of  the  people  round 
her.  Both  ladies  were  still  obviously  self-conscious,  occupied  with 
the  need  to  look  completely  detached,  to  advertise:  Tm  not  one 
of  them  !  Never  think  it  1 '  But  it  was  gradually  being  borne  in 
upon  them  that  they  need  take  no  further  trouble  in  this  connec 
tion.  Nobody  in  the  crowd  noticed  any  one  except '  those  ordinary 
looking  persons,'  as  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  complainingly  called  them, 
up  there  on  the  plinth  —  '  quite  like  what  one  sees  on  the  tops  of 
omnibuses  1 '  Certainly  it  was  an  exercise  in  incongruity  to  com 
pare  these  quiet,  rather  depressed  looking  people  with  the  vision 
conjured  up  by  Lord  John's  'raving  lunatics,'  'worthy  of  the 
straight  jacket,'  or  Paul  Filey's  'sexless  monstrosities.' 


THE   CONVERT  77 

'It's  rather  like  a  jest  that  promised  very  well  at  the  beginning, 
only  the  teller  has  forgotten  the  point.  Or  else,'  Vida  added,  look 
ing  at  the  face  of  one  of  the  women  up  there  —  '  or  else  the  mistake 
was  in  thinking  it  a  jest  at  all  1 '  She  turned  away  impatiently  and 
devoted  her  attention  to  such  scraps  of  comment  as  she  could  over 
hear  in  the  crowd  —  or  such,  rather,  as  she  could  understand. 

'That  one  —  that's  just  come  —  yes,  in  the  blue  tam-o'-shanter, 
that's  the  one  I  was  tellin'  you  about,'  said  a  red-haired  man,  with 
a  cheerful  and  rubicund  face. 

'  Looks  like  she'd  be  'andy  with  her  fists,  don't  she  ? '  contributed 
a  friend  alongside.  The  boys  in  front  and  behind  laughed 
appreciatively. 

But  the  ruddy  man  said,  '  Fists  ?  No.  She's  the  one  wot  car 
ries  the  dog-whip;'  and  they  all  craned  forward  with  redoubled 
interest.  It  is  sad  to  be  obliged  to  admit  that  the  two  ladies  did 
precisely  the  same. 

While  the  boys  were,  in  addition,  cat-calling  and  inquiring  about 
the  dog-whip  — 

'That  must  be  the  woman  the  papers  have  been  full  of,'  Mrs. 
Fox-Moore  whispered,  staring  at  the  new-comer  with  horrified 
eyes. 

'Yes,  no  doubt.'     Vida,  too,  scrutinized  her  more  narrowly. 

The  wearer  of  the  'Tarn'  was  certainly  more  robust-looking  than 
the  others,  but  even  she  had  the  pallor  of  the  worker  in  the  town. 
She  carried  her  fine  head  and  shoulders  badly,  like  one  who  has 
stooped  over  tasks  at  an  age  when  she  should  have  been  running 
about  the  fields.  She  drew  her  thick  brows  together  every  now 
and  then  with  an  effect  of  determination  that  gave  her  well- 
chiselled  features  so  dark  and  forbidding  an  aspect  it  was  a  sur 
prise  to  see  the  grace  that  swept  into  her  face  when,  at  something 
one  of  her  comrades  said,  she  broke  into  a  smile.  Two  shabby 
men  on  Vida's  left  were  working  themselves  into  a  fine  state  of 
moral  indignation  over  the  laxity  of  the  police  in  allowing  these 
women  to  air  their  vanity  in  public. 

'Comin'  here  with  tam-o'-shanters  to  tell  us  'ow  to  do  our 
business.' 

'  It's  part  o'  wot  I  mean  w'en  I  s'y  old  England's  on  the  down 
gryde.' 

'  W'ich  is  the  one  in  black  —  this  end  ? '   his  companion  asked, 


78  THE   CONVERT 

indicating  a  refined-looking  woman  of  forty  or  so.  'Is  that 
Miss ?' 

'Miss/  chipped  in  a  young  man  of  respectable  appearance  just 
behind.  'Miss?  Why,  that's  the  mother  o'  the  Gracchi,'  and 
there  was  a  little  ripple  of  laughter. 

' Hasn't  she  got  any  of  her  jewels  along  with  her  to-day?'  said 
another  voice. 

'What  do  they  mean?'  demanded  Mrs.  Fox-Moore. 

Vida  shook  her  head.  She  herself  was  looking  about  for  some 
one  to  ask. 

'Isn't  it  queer  that  you  and  I  have  lived  all  this  time  in  the 
world  and  have  never  yet  been  in  a  mixed  crowd  before  in  all  our 
lives  ?  —  never  as  a  part  of  it.' 

'I  think  myself  it's  less  strange  we  haven't  done  it  before  than 
that  we're  doing  it  now.  There's  the  woman  selling  things.  Let 
us  ask  her  — 

They  had  noticed  before  a  faded-looking  personage  who  had 
been  going  about  on  the  fringe  of  the  crowd  with  a  file  of  propa 
gandist  literature  on  her  arm.  Vida  beckoned  to  her.  She  made 
her  way  with  some  difficulty  through  the  chaffing,  jostling  horde, 
saying  steadily  and  with  a  kind  of  cheerful  doggedness  — 

'  Leaflets  !  Citizenship  of  Women,  by  Lothian  Scott !  Labour 
Record  !  Prison  Experiences  of  Miss  — 

'  How  much  ? '  asked  Miss  Levering. 

'What  you  like,'  she  answered. 

Miss  Levering  took  her  change  out  in  information.  'Can  you 
tell  me  who  the  speakers  are  ? ' 

'Oh,  yes.'  The  haggard  face  brightened  before  the  task. 
'That  one  is  the  famous  Miss  Claxton.' 

'  With  her  face  screwed  up  ? ' 

'That's  because  the  sun  is  in  her  eyes.' 

'She  isn't  so  bad-looking,'  admitted  Mrs.  Fox- Moore. 

'No;  but  just  wait  till  she  speaks  !'  The  faded  countenance  of 
the  woman  with  the  heavy  pile  of  printed  propaganda  on  her  arm 
was  so  lit  with  enthusiasm,  that  it,  too,  was  almost  good-looking, 
in  the  same  way  as  the  younger,  more  regular  face  up  there,  frown 
ing  at  the  people,  or  the  sun,  or  the  memory  of  wrongs. 

'Is  Miss  Claxton  some  relation  of  yours?'  asked  Mrs.  Fox- 
Moore. 


THE   CONVERT  79 

'No,  oh,  no,  I  don't  even  know  her.  She  hasn't  been  out  of 
prison  long.  The  man  in  grey  —  he's  Mr.  Henry.' 

'Out  of  prison!     And  Henry's  the  chairman,  I  suppose.' 

'No;  the  chairman  is  the  lady  in  black.'  The  pamphlet-seller 
turned  away  to  make  change  for  a  new  customer. 

'Do  you  mean  the  mother  of  the  Gracchi?'  said  Vida,  at  a 
venture,  and  saw  how  if  she  herself  hadn't  understood  the  joke 
the  lady  with  the  literature  did.  She  laughed  good-humouredly. 

'Yes;  that's  Mrs.  Chisholm.' 

'What !'  said  a  decent-looking  but  dismal  sort  of  shopman  just 
behind,  '  is  that  the  mother  of  those  dreadful  young  women  ? ' 

Neither  of  the  two  ladies  were  sufficiently  posted  in  the  nefarious 
goings  on  of  the  'dreadful'  progeny  quite  to  appreciate  the  by 
stander's  surprise,  but  they  gazed  with  renewed  interest  at  the 
delicate  face. 

'  What  can  the  man  mean !  She  doesn't  look '  Mrs.  Fox- 
Moore  hesitated. 

'No,'  Vida  helped  her  out  with  a  laughing  whisper;  'I  agree  she 
doesn't  look  big  enough  or  bad  enough  or  old  enough  or  bold  enough 
to  be  the  mother  of  young  women  renowned  for  their  dreadfulness. 
But  as  soon  as  she  opens  her  mouth  no  doubt  we'll  smell  the  brim 
stone.  I  wish  she'd  begin  her  raging.  Why  are  they  waiting  ? ' 

'It's  only  five  minutes  past,'  said  the  lady  with  the  literature. 
UI  think  they're  waiting  for  Mr.  Lothian  Scott.  He's  ill.  But 
he'll  come ! '  As  though  the  example  of  his  fidelity  to  the  cause 
nerved  her  to  more  earnest  prosecution  of  her  own  modest  duty, 
she  called  out,  'Leaflets!  Citizenship  of  Women,  by  Lothian 
Scott!' 

'Wot  do  they  give  ye,'  inquired  a  half-tipsy  tramp,  'fur  'awkin' 
that  rot  about?' 

She  turned  away  quite  unruffled.  'Citizenship  of  Women,  one 
penny.' 

'  I  hope  you  do  get  paid  for  so  disagreeable  a  job  —  forgive  my 
saying  so,'  said  Vida. 

'Paid?  Oh,  no!'  she  said  cheerfully.  'I'm  too  hard  at  work 
all  week  to  help  much.  And  I  can't  speak,  so  I  do  this.  Leaflets ! 
Citizenship ' 

'Is  that  pinched-looking  creature  at  the  end,'  —  Mrs.  Fox-Moore 
detained  the  pamphlet-seller  to  point  out  a  painfully  thin,  eager 


8o  THE   CONVERT 

little  figure  sitting  on  the  ledge  of  the  plinth  and  looking  down  with 
anxious  eyes  at  the  crowd  —  '  is  that  one  of  them  ? ' 

'Oh,  yes.  I  thought  everybody  knew  her.  That's  Miss  Mary 
O'Brian.' 

She  spoke  the  name  with  an  accent  of  such  protecting  tender 
ness  that  Vida  asked  — 

'And  who  is  Miss  Mary  O'Brian?'  But  the  pamphlet-seller 
had  descried  a  possible  customer,  and  was  gone. 

'Mary  O'Brian,'  said  a  blear-eyed  old  man,  'is  the  one  that's  just 
come  out  o'  quod.' 

'Oh,  thank  you.'  Then  to  her  sister  Vida  whispered,  'What  is 
quod  ? ' 

But  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  could  only  shake  her  head.  Even  when 
they  heard  the  words  these  strange  fellow-citizens  used,  meaning 
often  failed  to  accompany  sound. 

'Oh,  is  that  Mary?'  A  rollicking  young  rough,  with  his  hat 
on  the  extreme  back  of  his  head,  began  to  sing,  'Molly  Darling.' 

"Ow'd  yer  like  the  skilly?'  another  shouted  up  at  the  girl. 

'Skilly?'  whispered  Mrs.  Fox-Moore. 

Vida  in  turn  shook  her  head.  It  wasn't  in  the  dictionary  of  any 
language  she  knew.  But  it  seemed  in  some  way  to  involve  dis 
honour,  for  the  chairman,  who  had  been  consulting  with  the  man 
in  grey,  turned  suddenly  and  faced  the  crowd.  Her  eyes  were 
shining  with  the  light  of  battle,  but  what  she  said  in  a  peculiarly 
pleasant  voice  was  — 

'Miss  O'Brian  has  come  here  for  the  express  purpose  of  telling 
you  how  she  liked  it.' 

'Oh,  she's  going  to  tell  us  all  about  it.  'Ow  nice/'  But  they 
let  the  thin  little  slip  of  a  girl  alone  after  that. 

It  was  a  new-comer,  a  few  moments  later  who  called  out  from 
the  fringe  of  the  crowd  — 

'I  say,  Mary,  w'en  yer  get  yer  rights  will  y'  be  a  perliceman?' 
Even  the  tall,  grave  guardians  of  the  peace  ranged  about  the 
monument,  even  they  smiled  at  the  suggested  image. 

After  all,  it  might  not  be  so  uninteresting  to  listen  to  these  people 
for  a  few  minutes.  It  wasn't  often  that  life  presented  such  an  oppor 
tunity.  It  probably  would  never  occur  again.  These  women  on 
the  plinth  must  be  not  alone  of  a  different  world,  but  of  a  different 
clay,  since  they  not  only  did  not  shrink  from  disgracing  themselves 


THE   CONVERT  81 

—  women  had  been  capable  of  that  before  —  but  these  didn't 
even  mind  ridicule.     Which  was  new. 

Just  then  the  mother  of  the  Gracchi  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
plinth  to  open  the  meeting. 

'Friends!'  she  began.  The  crowd  hooted  that  proposition  to 
start  with.  But  the  pale  woman  with  the  candid  eyes  went  on  as 
calmly  as  though  she  had  been  received  with  polite  applause,  tell 
ing  the  jeering  crowd  several  things  they  certainly  had  not  known 
before,  that,  among  other  matters,  they  were  met  there  to  pass  a 
censure  on  the  Government  — 

'Haw!  haw!' 

'  'Ear,  'ear ! '  said  the  deaf  old  newsvendor,  with  his  free  hand 
up  to  his  ear. 

'  And  to  express  our  sympathy  with  the  brave  women 

The  staccato  cries  throughout  the  audience  dissolved  into  one 
general  hoot;  but  above  it  sounded  the  old  newsvendor's  "Ear, 
'ear!' 

"E  can't  'ear  without  'e  shouts  about  it.' 

'Try  and  keep  yerself  quiet,'  said  he,  with  dignity.  'We  ain't 
'ere  to  'ear  you.' 

' sympathy  with  the  brave  women,'  the  steady  voice  went 

on,  'who  are  still  in  prison.' 

'  Serve  'em  jolly  well  right ! ' 

'  Give  the  speaker  a  chaunce,  caun't  ye  ? '  said  the  newsvendor, 
with  a  withering  look. 

It  was  plain  this  old  gentleman  was  an  unblushing  adherent  to 
the  cause  (undismayed  by  being  apparently  the  only  one  in  that 
vicinity),  ready  to  cheer  the  chairman  at  every  juncture,  and  equally 
ready  to  administer  caustic  reproof  to  her  opponents. 

'Our  friends  who  are  in  prison,  are  there  simply  for  trying  to 
bring  before  a  member  of  the  Government  — 

'  Good  old  Effingham.     Three  cheers  for  Effingham ! ' 

'Oh,  yes,'  said  the  newsvendor,  'go  on!  'E  needs  a  little 
cheerin',  awfter  the  mess  'e's  made  o'  things!' 

'For  trying  to  put  before  a  member  of  the  Government  a  state 
ment  of  the  injustice  — 

'  That  ain't  why  they're  in  gaol.  It's  fur  ringin'  wot's-'is-name's 
door-bell.' 

'Kickin'  up  rows  in  the  street ' 

G 


82  THE   CONVERT 

'Oh,  you  shut  up,'  says  the  old  champion,  out  of  patience. 
'You've  'ad  'arf  a  pint  too  much.' 

Everybody  in  the  vicinity  was  obliged  to  turn  and  look  at  the 
youth  to  see  what  proportion  of  the  charge  was  humour  and  how 
much  was  fact.  The  youth  resented  so  deeply  the  turn  the  con 
versation  had  taken  that  he  fell  back  for  a  moment  on  bitter 
silence. 

'When  you  go  to  call  on  some  one,'  the  chairman  was  continu 
ing,  with  the  patient  air  of  one  instructing  a  class  in  a  kindergarten, 
'  it  is  the  custom  to  ring  the  bell.  What  do  you  suppose  a  door-bell 
is  for?  Do  you  think  our  deputation  should  have  tried  to  get  in 
without  ringing  at  the  door?' 

'They  'adn't  no  business  goin'  to  'is  private  'ouse.' 

'  Oh,  look  'ere,  just  take  that  extry  'arf  pint  outside  the  meetin' 
and  cool  off,  will  yer?' 

It  was  the  last  time  that  particular  opponent  aired  his  views. 
The  old  man's  judicious  harping  on  the  "arf  pint'  induced  the 
ardent  youth  to  moderate  his  political  transports.  They  were  not 
rightly  valued,  it  appeared.  After  a  few  more  mutterings  he  took 
his  'extry  'alf  pint'  into  some  more  congenial  society.  But  there 
were  several  others  in  the  crowd  who  had  come  similarly  forti 
fied,  and  they  were  everywhere  the  most  audible  opponents.  But 
above  argument,  denial,  abuse,  steadily  in  that  upper  air  the  clear 
voice  kept  on  — 

'Do  you  think  they  wanted  to  go  to  his  house?  Haven't  you 
heard  that  they  didn't  do  that  until  they  had  exhausted  every  other 
means  to  get  a  hearing?' 

To  the  shower  of  denial  and  objurgation  that  greeted  this,  she 
said  with  uplifted  hand  — 

'Stop !     Let  me  tell  you  about  it.' 

The  action  had  in  it  so  much  of  authority  that  (as  it  seemed, 
to  their  own  surprise)  the  interrupters,  with  mouths  still  open, 
suspended  operations  for  a  moment. 

'Why,  this  is  a  woman  of  education!  What  on  earth  is  a 
person  like  that  doing  in  this  galere  ? '  Vida  asked,  as  if  Mrs.  Fox- 
Moore  might  be  able  to  enlighten  her.  '  Can't  she  see  —  even  if 
there  were  anything  in  the  "Cause,"  as  she  calls  it  —  what  an 
imbecile  waste  of  time  it  is  talking  to  these  louts?' 

'There's  a  good  many  voters  here,'  said  a  tall,  gloomy-looking 


THE   CONVERT  83 

individual,  wearing  a  muffler  in  lieu  of  a  collar.     'She's  politician 
enough  to  know  that.' 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  looked  through  the  man.  'The  only  reassur 
ing  thing  I  see  in  the  situation,'  she  said  to  her  sister,  'is  that  they 
don't  find  many  women  to  come  and  listen  to  their  nonsense.' 

'  Well,  they've  got  you  and  me  !  Awful  thought !  Suppose  they 
converted  us ! ' 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  didn't  even  trouble  to  reply  to  such  levity. 
What  was  interesting  was  the  discovery  that  this  'chairman,' 
before  an  audience  so  unpromising,  not  only  held  her  own  when 
she  was  interrupted  and  harassed  by  the  crowd  —  even  more 
surprising  she  bore  with  the  most  recalcitrant  members  of  it  — 
tried  to  win  them  over,  and  yet  when  they  were  rude,  did  not  with 
hold  reproof,  and  at  times  looked  down  upon  them  with  so  fine 
a  scorn  that  it  seemed  as  if  even  those  ruffianly  young  men  felt 
the  edge  of  it.  Certainly  a  curious  sight  —  this  well-bred  woman 
standing  there  in  front  of  the  soaring  column,  talking  with  grave 
passion  to  those  loafers  about  the  'Great  Woman  Question,'  and 
they  treating  it  as  a  Sunday  afternoon  street  entertainment. 

The  next  speaker  was  a  working  woman,  the  significance  of 
whose  appearance  in  that  place  and  in  that  company  was  so  little 
apprehended  by  the  two  ladies  in  the  crowd  that  they  agreed  in 
laughingly  commiserating  the  chairman  for  not  having  more  of 
her  own  kind  to  back  her  up  in  her  absurd  contention.  Though 
the  second  speaker  merely  bored  the  two  who,  having  no  key  either 
to  her  pathos  or  her  power,  saw  nothing  but  'low  cockney  effron 
tery  '  in  her  effort,  she  nevertheless  had  a  distinct  success  with  the 
crowd.  Here  was  somebody  speaking  their  own  language  —  they 
paid  her  the  tribute  of  their  loudest  hoots  mixed  with  applause. 
She  never  lost  her  hold  on  them  until  the  appearance  on  the  plinth 
of  a  grave,  rugged,  middle-aged  man  in  a  soft  hat. 

'That's  'im!' 

'Yes.     Lothian  Scott!' 

Small  need  for  the  chairwoman  to  introduce  the  grey  man  with 
the  northern  burr  in  his  speech,  and  the  northern  turn  for  the  un 
compromising  in  opinion.  Every  soul  there  save  the  two  'edu 
cated'  ladies  knew  this  was  the  man  who  had  done  more  to  make 
the  Labour  Party  a  political  force  to  be  reckoned  with  than  any 
other  creature  in  the  three  kingdoms.  Whether  he  was  conscious 


84  THE   CONVERT 

of  having  friends  in  a  gathering  largely  Tory  (as  lower-class  crowds 
still  are),  certainly  he  did  not  spare  his  enemies. 

During  the  first  few  minutes  of  a  speech  full  of  Socialism,  Mrs. 
Fox-Moore  (stirred  to  unheard-of  expressiveness)  kept  up  a  low, 
running  comment  — 

'Oh,  of  course !  He  says  that  to  curry  favour  with  the  mob  — 
a  rank  demagogue,  this  man  !  Such  pandering  to  the  populace ! ' 
Then,  turning  sharply  to  her  companion,  (He  wants  votes/'  she 
said,  as  though  detecting  in  him  a  taste  unknown  among  the  men 
in  her  purer  circle.  'Oh,  no  doubt  he  makes  a  very  good  thing 
out  of  it !  Going  about  filling  the  people's  heads  with  revolution 
ary  ideas!  Monstrous  wickedness,  7  call  it,  stirring  up  class 
against  class!  I  begin  to  wonder  what  the  police  are  thinking 
about.'  She  looked  round  uneasily. 

The  excitement  had  certainly  increased  as  the  little  grey  politi 
cian  denounced  the  witlessness  of  the  working-class,  and  when 
they  howled  at  him,  went  on  to  expound  a  trenchant  doctrine  of 
universal  Responsibility,  which  preceded  the  universal  Suffrage 
that  was  to  come.  Much  of  what  he  said  was  drowned  in  uproar. 
It  had  become  clear  that  his  opinions  revolted  the  majority  of  his 
hearers  even  more  than  they  did  the  two  ladies.  So  outraged  were 
the  sensibilities  of  the  hooligan  and  the  half-drunk  that  they 
drowned  as  much  of  the  speech  as  they  were  able  in  cat-calls  and 
jeers.  But  enough  still  penetrated  to  ears  polite  not  only  to  hor 
rify,  but  to  astonish  them  —  such  force  has  the  spoken  word  above 
even  its  exaggeration  in  cold  print. 

The  ladies  had  read  —  sparingly,  it  is  true  —  that  these  things 
were  said,  but  to  hear  them ! 

'He  doesn't,  after  all,  seem  to  be  saying  what  the  mob  wants  to 
hear,'  said  the  younger  woman. 

'  No ;  mercifully  the  heart  of  the  country  is  still  sound ! ' 

But  for  one  of  these  two  out  of  the  orderlier  world,  the  opposition 
that  the  '  rank  demagogue '  roused  in  the  mob  was  to  light  a  lamp 
whereby  she  read  wondering  the  signs  of  an  unsuspected  bond 
between  Janet  Fox-Moore  and  the  reeking  throng. 

When,  contrary  to  the  old-established  custom  of  the  demagogue, 
the  little  politician  in  homespun  had  confided  to  the  men  in  front 
of  him  what  he  thought  of  them,  he  told  them  that  the  Woman's 
Movement  which  they  held  themselves  so  clever  for  ridiculing,  was 


THE   CONVERT  85 

in  much  the  same  position  to-day  as  the  Extension  of  Suffrage  for 
men  was  in  '67.  Had  it  not  been  for  demonstrations  (beside  which 
the  action  that  had  lodged  the  women  in  gaol  was  innocent  child's 
play),  neither  he,  the  speaker,  nor  any  of  the  men  in  front  of  him 
would  have  the  right  to  vote  to-day. 

'You  ridicule  and  denounce  these  women  for  trying  peacefully 
—  yes,  I  say  peacefully  —  to  get  their  rights  as  citizens.  Do  you 
know  what  our  fathers  did  to  get  ours  ?  They  broke  down  Hyde 
Park  railings,  they  burnt  the  Bristol  Municipal  Buildings,  they 
led  riots,  and  they  shed  blood.  These  women  have  hurt  nobody.' 

'What  about  the  policeman?' 

He  went  on  steadily,  comparing  the  moderation  of  the  women 
with  the  red-hot  violence  of  their  Chartist  forbears  —  till  one  half- 
drunken  listener,  having  lost  the  thread,  hiccuped  out  — 

'  Can't  do  nothin'  —  them  women.  Even  after  we've  showed 
'em  'owf 

1  Has  he  got  his  history  right  ? '  Vida  asked  through  her  smiling 
at  the  last  sally.  'Not  that  it  applies,  of  course,'  she  was  in  haste 
to  add. 

'Oh,  what  does  it  matter?'  Her  sister  waved  it  aside.  'An 
unscrupulous  politician  hasn't  come  here  to  bother  about  little 
things  like  facts.' 

'I  don't  think  I  altogether  agree  with  you  there.  That  man  may 
be  a  fanatic,  but  he's  honest,  I  should  say.  Those  Scotch  peas 
ants,  you  know  — 

'Oh,  because  he's  rude,  and  talks  with  a  burr,  you  think  he's  a 
sort  of  political  Thomas  Carlyle?' 

Though  Vida  smiled  at  the  charge,  something  in  her  alert  air 
as  she  followed  the  brief  recapitulation  of  the  Chartist  story  showed 
how  an  appeal  to  justice,  or  even  to  pity,  may  fail,  where  the  rous 
ing  of  some  dim  sense  of  historical  significance  (which  is  more  than 
two-thirds  fear),  may  arrest  and  even  stir  to  unsuspected  deeps. 
The  grave  Scotsman's  striking  that  chord  even  in  a  mind  as  inno 
cent  as  Vida's,  of  accurate  or  ordered  knowledge  of  the  past,  even 
here  the  chord  could  vibrate  to  a  strange  new  sense  of  possible 

significance  in  this  scene  ' after  all.'  It  would  be  queer,  it 

would  be  horrible,  it  was  fortunately  incredible,  but  what  if,  '  after 
all,'  she  were  ignorantly  assisting  at  a  scene  that  was  to  play  its 
part  in  the  greatest  revolution  the  world  had  seen?  Some  such 


86  THE   CONVERT 

mental  playing  with  possibilities  seemed  to  lurk  behind  the  intent 
reflective  face. 

'There  are  far  too  many  voters  already,'  her  sister  had  flung  out. 

'Yes  —  yes,  a  much  uglier  world  they  want  to  make !' 

But  in  the  power  to  make  history  —  if  these  people  indeed  had 
that,  then  indeed  might  they  be  worth  watching  —  even  if  it  were 
only  after  one  good  look  to  hide  the  eyes  in  dismay.  That  pos 
sibility  of  historic  signifi  nee  had  suddenly  lifted  the  sordid  ex 
hibition  to  a  different  plane. 

As  the  man,  amid  howls,  ended  his  almost  indistinguishable 
peroration,  the  unmoved  chairman  stepped  forward  again  to  try 
to  win  back  for  the  next  speaker  that  modicum  of  quiet  attention 
which  he,  at  all  events,  had  the  art  of  gaining  and  of  keeping.  As 
she  came  forward  this  time  one  of  her  auditors  looked  at  the 
Woman  Leader  in  the  Crusade  with  new  eyes  —  not  with  sym 
pathy,  rather  with  a  vague  alarm.  Vida  Levering's  air  of  almost 
strained  attention  was  an  unconscious  public  confession:  'I 
haven't  understood  these  strange  women;  I  haven't  understood 
the  spirit  of  the  mob  that  hoots  the  man  we  know  vaguely  for  their 
champion;  I  haven't  understood  the  allusions  nor  the  argot  that 
they  talk ;  I  can't  check  the  history  that  peasant  has  appealed  to. 
In  the  midst  of  so  much  that  is  obscure,  it  is  meet  to  reserve  judg 
ment.'  Something  of  that  might  have  been  read  in  the  look  lifted 
once  or  twice  as  though  in  wonderment,  above  the  haggard  group 
up  there  between  the  guardian  lions,  beyond  even  the  last  reach 
of  the  tall  monument,  to  the  cloudless  sky  of  June.  Was  the  great 
shaft  itself  playing  a  part  in  the  impression  ?  Was  it  there  not  at 
all  for  memory  of  some  battle  long  ago,  but  just  to  mark  on  the 
fair  bright  page  of  afternoon  a  huge  surprise  ?  What  lesser  accent 
than  just  this  Titanic  exclamation  point  could  fitly  punctuate  the 
record  of  so  strange  a  portent !  —  women  confronting  the  popu 
lace  of  the  mightiest  city  in  the  world  —  pleading  in  her  most 
public  place  their  right  to  a  voice  in  her  affairs. 

In  the  face  of  this  unexpected  mood  of  receptivity,  however  un 
willing,  came  a  sharp  corrective  in  the  person  of  the  next  speaker. 

'  Oh,  it's  not  going  to  be  one  that's  been  to  prison ! ' 

'Oh,  dear  !  It's  the  one  with  the  wild  black  hair  and  the  awful 
"picture  hat"  !'  But  they  stared  for  a  few  moments  as  if,  in  despite 
of  themselves,  fascinated  by  this  lady  be-feathered,  be-crimped,  and 


THE   CONVERT  87 

he-ringed,  wearing  her  huge  hat  cocked  over  one  ear  with  a  defiant 
coquetry  above  a  would-be  conquering  smile.  The  unerring  wits 
in  the  crowd  had  already  picked  her  out  for  special  attention,  but 
her  active  'public  form'  was  even  more  torturing  to  the  fastidious 
feminine  sense  than  her  'stylish'  appearance.  For  her  language, 
flowery  and  grandiloquent,  was  excruciatingly  genteel,  one  moment 
conveyed  by  minced  words  through  a  pursed  mouth,  and  the  next 
carried  away  on  a  turgid  tide  of  rhetoric  —  the  swimmer  in  this 
sea  of  sentiment  flinging  out  braceleted  arms,  and  bawling  appeals 
to  the  lWim — men — nof—Vinglund/'  The  crowd  howled  with 
derisive  joy. 

All  the  same,  when  they  saw  she  had  staying  power,  and  a  kind 
of  Transpontine  sense  of  drama  in  her,  the  populace  mocked  less 
and  applauded  more.  Why  not?  She  was  very  much  like  an 
overblown  Adelphi  heroine,  and  they  could  see  her  act  for  nothing. 
But  every  time  she  apostrophized  the  'Wim — men — nof — Ving- 
hmdf  two  of  those  same  gave  way  to  overcharged  feelings. 

'Oh,  my  dear,  I  can't  stand  this !     I'm  going  home !' 

'Yes,  yes.  Let's  get  away  from  this  terrible  female.  I  suppose 
they  keep  back  the  best  speakers  for  the  last.' 

The  two  ladies  turned,  and  began  to  edge  their  way  out  of  the 
tightly  packed  mass  of  humanity. 

'It's  rather  a  pity,  too,'  said  Mrs.  Fox-Moore,  looking  back, 
'for  this  is  the  only  chance  we'll  ever  have.  I  did  want  to  hear 
what  the  skilly  was.' 

'Yes,  and  about  the  dog-whip.' 

'Skilly!  Sounds  as  if  it  might  be  what  she  hit  the  policeman 
with.'  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  was  again  pausing  to  look  back.  'That 
gyrating  female  is  more  what  I  expected  them  all  to  be.' 

'Yes;  but  just  listen  to  that.' 

'To  what?' 

'Why,  the  way  they're  applauding  her.' 

'  Yes,  they  positively  revel  in  the  creature ! ' 

It  was  a  long,  tiresome  business  this  worming  their  way  out. 
They  paused  again  and  again  two  or  three  times,  looking  back  at 
the  scene  with  a  recurrent  curiosity,  and  each  time  repelled  by  the 
platform  graces  of  the  lady  who  was  so  obviously  enjoying  herself 
to  the  top  of  her  bent.  Yet  even  after  the  fleeing  twain  arrived 
on  the  fringe  of  the  greatly  augmented  crowd,  something  even  then 


88  THE   CONVERT 

prevented  their  instantly  making  the  most  of  their  escape.  They 
stood  criticizing  and  denouncing. 

Again  Mrs.  Fox- Moore  said  it  was  a  pity,  since  they  were  there, 
that  they  should  have  to  go  without  hearing  one  of  those  who  had 
been  in  prison,  'For  we'll  never  have  another  chance.' 

'Perhaps,'  said  her  sister,  looking  back  at  the  gesticulating 
figure  —  'perhaps  we're  being  a  little  unreasonable.  We  were 
annoyed  at  first  because  they  weren't  what  we  expected,  and  when 
we  get  what  we  came  to  see,  we  run  away.' 

While  still  they  lingered,  with  a  final  fling  of  arms  and  toss  of 
plumes,  the  champion  of  the  women  of  England  sat  down  in  the 
midst  of  applause. 

'  You  hear  ?     It's  all  very  well.     Most  of  them  simply  loved  it.' 

And  now  the  chairman,  in  a  strikingly  different  style,  was  pre 
paring  the  way  for  the  next  speaker,  at  mention  of  whom  the  crowd 
seemed  to  feel  they'd  been  neglecting  their  prerogative  of  hissing. 

'What  name  did  she  say?     Why  do  they  make  that  noise?' 

The  two  ladies  began  to  worm  their  way  back ;  but  this  was  a 
different  matter  from  coming  out. 

'Wot  yer  doin'  ?'  some  one  inquired  sternly  of  Mrs.  Fox-Moore. 

Another  turned  sharply,  'Look  out !     Oo  yer  pushin',  old  girl  ?; 

The  horrid  low  creatures  seemed  to  have  no  sense  of  deference. 
And  the  stuff  they  smoked ! 

'  Pah ! '  observed  Mrs.  Fox-Moore,  getting  the  full  benefit  of  a 
noxious  puff.  'Pah!' 

'Wot!'  said  the  smoker,  turning  angrily.  'Pah  to  you,  miss!' 
He  eyed  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  from  head  to  foot  with  a  withering  scorn. 
'Comin'  'ere  awskin'  us  fur  votes'  (Vida  nearly  fainted),  'and  ain't 
able  to  stand  a  little  tobacco.' 

'Stand  in  front,  Janet,'  said  Miss  Levering,  hastily  recovering 
herself.  '/  don't  mind  smoke,'  she  said  mendaciously,  trying  to 
appease  the  defiler  of  the  air  with  a  little  smile.  Indeed,  the  idea 
of  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  having  come  to  'awsk'  this  person  for  a  vote 
was  sufficiently  quaint. 

'This  is  the  sort  of  thing  they  mean,  I  suppose,'  said  that  lady, 
'when  they  talk  about  cockney  humour.  It  doesn't  appeal  to  me.' 

Vida  bit  her  lip.  Her  own  taste  was  less  pure.  'We  needn't 
try  to  get  any  nearer,'  she  said  hastily.  'This  chairman-person 
can  make  herself  heard  without  screeching.' 


THE   CONVERT  89 

But  having  lost  the  key  during  the  passage  over  the  pipe,  they 
could  only  make  out  that  she  was  justifying  some  one  to  the  mob, 
some  one  who  apparently  was  coming  in  for  too  much  sharp 
criticism  for  the  chairman  to  fling  her  to  the  wolves  without  first 
diverting  them  a  little.  The  battle  of  words  that  ensued  was 
almost  entirely  unintelligible  to  the  two  ladies,  but  they  gathered, 
through  means  more  expressive  than  speech,  that  the  chairman 
was  dealing  with  some  sort  of  crisis  in  the  temper  of  the  meeting, 
brought  about  by  the  mention  of  a  name. 

The  only  thing  clear  was  that  she  was  neither  going  to  give  in, 
nor  going  to  turn  over  the  meeting  in  a  state  of  ferment  to  some  less 
practised  hand. 

'Yes,  she  did!  She  had  a  perfect  right,'  the  chairman  main 
tained  against  a  storm  of  noes  —  '  more  than  a  right,  a  duly,  to 
perform  in  going  with  that  deputation  on  public  business  to  the 
house  of  a  public  servant,  since,  unlike  the  late  Prime  Minister, 
he  had  refused  to  women  all  opportunity  to  treat  with  him  through 
the  usual  channels  always  open  to  citizens  having  a  political 
grievance.' 

'  Citizens  ?     Suffragettes  ! ' 

'Very  well.'  She  set  her  mouth.  'Suffragettes  if  you  like. 
To  get  an  abuse  listened  to  is  the  first  thing ;  to  get  it  understood 
is  the  next.  Rather  than  not  have  our  cause  stand  out  clear  and 
unmistakable  before  a  preoccupied,  careless  world,  we  accept  the 
clumsy  label ;  we  wear  it  proudly.  And  it  won!t  be  the  first  time 
in  history  that  a  name  given  in  derision  has  become  a  badge  of 
honour ! ' 

Why,  the  woman's  eyes  were  suffused !  —  a  flush  had  mounted 
up  to  her  hair ! 

How  she  cared ! 

'Yer  ain't  told  us  the  reason  ye  want  the  vote/ 

'  Reason  ?     Why,  she's  a  woman  ! ' 

'Haw!  haw!' 

The  speaker  had  never  paused  an  instant,  but  it  began  to  be 
clear  that  she  heard  any  interruption  it  suited  her  to  hear. 

'Some  one  asking,  at  this  time  of  day,  why  women  want  the 
vote  ?  Why,  for  exactly  the  same  reason  that  you  men  do.  Be 
cause,  not  having  any  voice  in  public  affairs,  our  interests  are 
neglected;  and  since  woman's  interests  are  man's,  all  humanity 


9o  THE   CONVERT 

suffers.  We  want  the  vote,  because  taxation  without  representa 
tion  is  tyranny;  because  the  laws  as  they  stand  bear  hardly  on 
women;  and  because  those  unfair,  man-made  laws  will  never  be 
altered  till  women  have  a  share  in  electing  the  men  who  control 
legislation.' 

'  Yer  ought  ter  leave  politics  to  us ' 

'We  can't  leave  politics  to  the  men,  because  politics  have  come 
into  the  home,  and  if  the  higher  interests  of  the  home  are  to  be 
served,  women  must  come  into  politics.' 

'That's  a  bad  argument!' 

'Wot  I  always  say  is ' 


'Can't  change  nature.     Nature  says ; 

'Let  'er  st'y  at  'ome  and  mind  'er  business!' 

The  interjections  seemed  to  come  all  at  once.  The  woman 
bent  over  the  crowd.  Nothing  misty  in  her  eyes  now  —  rather  a 
keener  light  than  before. 

'Don't  you  see,'  she  appealed  to  them  as  equals  —  'don't  you 
see  that  in  your  improvement  of  the  world  you  men  have  taken 
women's  business  out  of  her  home?  In  the  old  days  there  was 
work  and  responsibility  enough  for  woman  without  going  outside 
her  own  gate.  The  women  were  the  bakers  and  brewers,  the  soap 
and  candle-makers,  the  loom-workers  of  the  world.  You  men,' 
she  said,  delicately  flattering  them,  'you  have  changed  all  that. 
You  have  built  great  factories  and  warehouses  and  mills.  But 
how  do  you  keep  them  going?  By  calling  women  to  come  in  their 
thousands  and  help  you.  But  women  love  their  homes.  You 
couldn't  have  got  these  women  out  of  their  homes  without  the  goad 
of  poverty.  You  men  can't  always  earn  enough  to  keep  the  poor 
little  home  going,  so  the  women  work  in  the  shops,  they  swarm 
at  the  mill  gates,  and  the  factories  are  full.' 

'True!     True,  every  blessed  word!'   said  the  old  newsvendor. 

'Hush  !'  she  said.  'Don't  interrupt.  In  taking  women's  busi 
ness  out  of  the  home  you  haven't  freed  her  from  the  need  to  see 
after  the  business.  The  need  is  greater  than  ever  it  was.  Why, 
eighty-two  per  cent  of  the  women  of  this  country  are  wage-earning 
women !  Yet,  you  go  on  foolishly  echoing :  Woman's  place  is  at 
home.' 

'True!     True!'   said  the  aged  champion,  unabashed. 

'Then  there  are  those  men,  philanthropists,  statesmen,  who  be- 


THE   CONVERT  91 

lieve  they  are  safeguarding  the  interests  of  women  by  making  laws 
restricting  their  work,  and  so  restricting  their  resources  without 
ever  consulting  these  women.  If  they  consulted  these  women,  they 
would  hear  truths  that  would  open  their  blind  eyes.  But  no,  the 
woman  isn't  worthy  of  being  consulted.  She  is  worthy  to  do  the 
highest  work  given  to  humanity,  to  bear  and  to  bring  up  children ; 
she  is  worthy  to  teach  and  to  train  them ;  she  is  worthy  to  pay  the 
taxes  that  she  has  no  voice  in  levying.  If  she  breaks  the  law  that 
she  has  no  share  in  making,  she  is  worth  hanging,  but  she  is  not 
worth  consulting  about  her  own  affairs  —  affairs  of  supremest 
importance  to  her  very  existence  —  affairs  that  no  man,  however 
great  and  good,  can  understand  so  well  as  she.  She  will  never 
get  justice  until  she  gets  the  vote.  Even  the  well-to-do  middle- 
class  woman ' 

1  Wot  are  you  ? ' 

'  And  even  the  woman  of  what  are  called  the  upper  classes  — 
even  she  must  wince  at  the  times  when  men  throw  off  the  mask 
and  let  her  see  how  in  their  hearts  they  despise  her.  A  few  weeks 
ago  Mr.  Lothian  Scott ! 

'Boo!    Boo!' 

'Hooray!' 

"ray  for  Lothian  Scott !' 

In  the  midst  of  isolated  cheers  and  a  volume  of  booing,  she 
went  on  — 

•When  he  brought  a  resolution  before  the  House  of  Commons 
to  remove  the  sex  disqualification,  what  happened?' 

*  Y'  kicked  up  a  row ! ' 

'Lot  o'  yer  got  jugged!' 

'The  same  thing  happened  that  has  been  happening  for  half  a 
century  every  time  the  question  comes  up  in  that  English  Parlia 
ment  that  Englishmen  are  supposed  to  think  of  with  such  respect 
as  a  place  of  dignity.  What  happened?'  She  leaned  forward 
and  her  eyes  shone.  'What  happened  in  that  sacred  place,  that 
Ark  where  they  safeguard  the  honour  of  England?  What  hap 
pened  to  our  honour,  that  these  men  dare  tell  us  is  so  safe  in  their 
hands?  Our  cause  was  dragged  through  filth.  The  very  name 
"woman"  was  used  as  a  signal  for  jests  and  ribald  laughter,  and 
for  such  an  exhibition  of  sex  rancour  and  mistrust  that  it  passed 
imagination  to  think  what  the  mothers  and  wives  of  the  members 


92  THE   CONVERT 

must  think  of  the  public  confession  of  the  deep  disrespect  their 
menfolk  feel  for  them.  Some  one  here  spoke  of  ua  row."'  She 
threw  back  her  head,  and  faced  the  issue  as  though  she  knew  that 
by  bringing  it  forward  herself,  she  could  turn  the  taunt  against 
the  next  speaker  into  a  title  of  respect.  '  You  blame  us  for  making 
a  scene  in  that  holy  place  !  You  would  have  us  imitate  those  other 
women  —  the  well-behaved  —  the  women  who  think  more  of  man 
ners  than  of  morals.  There  they  were  —  for  an  example  to  us  — 
that  night  of  the  debate,  that  night  of  the  "row"  —  there  they  sat 
as  they  have  always  done,  like  meek  mute  slaves  up  there  in  their 
little  gilded  pen,  ready  to  listen  to  any  insult,  ready  to  smile  on  the 
men  afterward.  In  only  one  way,  but  it  was  an  important  excep 
tion,  in  just  one  way  that  debate  on  Woman  Suffrage  differed 
from  any  other  that  had  ever  taken  place  in  the  House  of  Com 
mons.' 

A  voice  in  the  crowd  was  raised,  but  before  the  jeer  was  out 
Mrs.  Chisholm  had  flung  down  her  last  ringing  sentences. 

'  There  were  others  up  there  in  the  little  pen  that  night !  — 
women,  too  —  but  women  with  enough  decency  to  be  revolted, 
and  with  enough  character  to  resent  such  treatment  as  the  mem 
bers  down  there  on  the  floor  of  the  House  were  giving  to  our 
measure.  Though  the  women  who  ought  to  have  felt  it  most  sat 
there  cowed  and  silent,  I  am  proud  to  think  there  were  other 
women  who  cried  out,  "Shame/"-  Yes,  yes,'  she  interrupted  the 
interrupters,  'those  women  were  dragged  away  to  prison,  and  all 
the  world  was  aghast.  But  I  tell  you  that  cry  was  the  beginning 
of  a  new  chapter  in  human  history.  It  began  with  " Shame!" 
but  it  will  end  with  "Honour."' 

The  old  newsvendor  led  the  applause. 

1  Janet !     That  woman  never  spat  in  a  policeman's  face.' 

'Pull  down  your  veil,'  was  the  lady's  sharp  response. 
'Quick ' 

'My ' 

'Yes,  pull  it  down,  and  don't  turn  round.' 

A  little  dazed  by  the  red-hot  torrent  the  woman  on  the  plinth 
was  still  pouring  down  on  the  people,  Vida's  mind  at  the  word 
'veil,'  so  peremptorily  uttered,  reverted  by  some  trick  of  associa 
tion  to  the  Oriental  significance  of  that  mark  in  dress  distinctively 
the  woman's. 


THE   CONVERT  93 

'Why  should  I  pull  down  my  veil?'   she  answered  abstractedly. 

'They're  looking  this  way.     Don't  turn  round.     Come,  come.' 

With  a  surprising  alacrity  and  skill  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  made  her 
way  out  of  the  throng.  Vida,  following,  yet  looking  back,  heard  — 

'Now,  I  want  you  men  to  give  a  fair  hearing  to  a  woman 
who- 

'Vida,  don't  look!  Mercifully,  they're  too  much  amused  to 
notice  us.' 

Disobeying  the  mandate,  the  younger  woman's  eyes  fell  at  last 
upon  the  figures  of  two  young  men  hovering  on  the  outer  circle. 
The  sun  caught  their  tall,  glossy  hats,  played  upon  the  single 
flower  in  the  frock  coat,  struck  on  the  eyeglass,  and  gleamed 
mockingly  on  the  white  teeth  of  the  one  who  smiled  the  broadest 
as  they  both  stood,  craning  their  necks,  whispering  and  laughing, 
on  the  fringe  of  the  crowd. 

'Why,  it's  Dick  Farnborough  —  and  that  friend  of  his  from  the 
Austrian  Embassy.' 

Vida  pulled  down  her  veil. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DEVOUTLY  thankful  at  having  escaped  from  her  compromising 
position  unrecognized,  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  firmly  declined  to  go 
'  awskin'  fur  the  vote '  again !  When  Vida  gave  up  her  laughing 
remonstrance,  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  thought  her  sister  had  also  given 
up  the  idea.  But  as  Vida  afterwards  confessed,  she  told  herself 
that  she  would  go  'just  once  more.'  It  could  not  be  but  what  she 
was  under  some  illusion  about  that  queer  spectacle.  From  one 
impression  each  admitted  it  was  difficult  to  shake  herself  free. 
Whatever  those  women  were  or  were  not,  they  weren't  fools. 
What  did  the  leaders  (in  prison  and  out),  what  did  they  think  they 
were  accomplishing,  besides  making  themselves  hideously  uncom 
fortable?  The  English  Parliament,  having  flung  them  out,  had 
gone  on  with  its  routine,  precisely  as  though  nothing  had  hap 
pened.  Had  anything  happened  ?  That  was  the  question.  The 
papers  couldn't  answer.  They  were  given  over  to  lies.  The 
bare  idea  of  women  pretending  to  concern  themselves  with  pub 
lic  affairs  —  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Press,  it  was  enough  to 
make  the  soberest  sides  shake  with  Homeric  laughter. 

So,  then,  one  last  time  to  see  for  one's  self.  And  on  this  occa 
sion  no  pettiness  of  disguise,  Miss  Levering's  aspect  seemed  to 
say  —  no  recurrence  of  any  undignified  flight.  She  had  been 
frightened  away  from  her  first  meeting,  but  she  would  not  be 
frightened  from  the  second,  which  was  also  to  be  the  last. 

An  instinct  unanalyzed,  but  significant  of  what  was  to  follow, 
kept  her  from  seeking  companionship  outside.  Had  Wark  not 
gone  over  to  the  market-gardener,  her  former  mistress  would  have 
had  no  misgiving  about  taking  the  woman  into  her  confidence. 
But  Wark,  with  lightning  rapidity,  had  become  Mrs.  Anderson 
Slynes,  and  was  beyond  recall.  So  the  new  maid  was  told  the 
following  Sunday,  that  she  might  walk  with  her  mistress  across 
Hyde  Park  (where  the  papers  said  the  meetings  in  future  were  to 
be),  carrying  some  music  which  had  to  be  returned  to  the  Tun- 
bridges. 

94 


THE   CONVERT  95 

Pursuing  this  programme,  what  more  natural  than  that  those 
two  chance  pedestrians  should  be  arrested  by  an  apparition  on  their 
way,  of  a  flaming  banner  bearing,  along  with  a  demand  for  the 
vote,  an  outrageous  charge  against  a  distinguished  public  servant 
—  'a  pity  the  misguided  creatures  didn't  know  him,  just  a  little!' 

Yes.  There  it  was!  a  rectangle  of  red  screaming  across  the 
vivid  green  of  the  park  not  a  hundred  yards  from  the  Marble 
Arch,  the  denunciatory  banner  stretched  above  the  side  of  an  un 
covered  van.  A  little  crowd  of  perhaps  a  hundred  collected  on 
one  side  of  the  cart  —  the  loafers  on  the  outermost  fringe,  lying 
on  the  grass.  Never  a  sign  of  a  Suffragette,  and  nearly  three 
o'clock !  Impossible  for  any  passer-by  to  carry  out  the  programme 
of  pausing  to  ask  idly,  '  What  are  those  women  screeching  about  ? ' 

Seeming  to  search  in  vain  for  some  excuse  to  linger,  Miss  Lever- 
ing's  wandering  eye  fell  upon  a  young  mother  wheeling  a  per 
ambulator.  She  had  glanced  with  mild  curiosity  at  the  flaunting 
ensign,  and  then  turned  from  it  to  lean  forward  and  straighten 
her  baby's  cap. 

'I  wonder  what  she  thinks  of  the  Woman  Question,'  Miss  Lever 
ing  observed,  in  a  careless  aside  to  her  maid. 

Before  Gorringe  could  reply:  'Doddy's  a  bootiful  angel,  isn't 
Doddy  ? '  said  the  young  mother,  with  subdued  rapture. 

'Ah,  she's  found  the  solution,'  said  the  lady,  looking  back. 

Other  pedestrians  glanced  at  the  little  crowd  about  the  cart, 
read  demand  and  denunciation  on  the  banner,  laughed,  and  they, 
too,  for  the  most  part,  went  on. 

An  Eton  boy,  who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  her  grandson,  came 
by  with  a  white-haired  lady  of  distinguished  aspect,  who  held  up 
her  voluminous  silken  skirts  and  stared  silently  at  the  legend. 

'  Do  you  see  what  it  says  ? '  the  Eton  boy  laughed  as  he  looked 
back.  "'We  demand  the  vote."  Fancy!  They  "demand"  it. 
What  awful  cheek ! '  and  he  laughed  again  at  the  fatuity  of  the 
female  creature. 

Vida  glanced  at  the  dignified  old  dame  as  though  with  an  uneasy 
new  sense  of  the  incongruity  in  the  attitude  of  those  two  quite 
commonplace,  everyday  members  of  a  world  that  was  her  world, 
and  that  yet  could  for  a  moment  look  quite  strange. 

She  turned  and  glanced  back  at  the  ridiculous  cart  as  if  summon 
ing  the  invisible  presence  of  Mrs.  Chisholm  to  moderate  the  inso- 


96  THE   CONVERT 

lence  of  the  budding  male.  Still  there  was  no  sign  either  of  Mrs. 
Chisholm  or  any  of  her  fellow-conspirators  against  the  old  order 
of  the  world.  Miss  Levering  stood  a  moment  hesitating. 

'I  believe  I'm  a  little  tired,'  she  said  to  the  discreet  maid.  'We'll 
rest  here  a  moment,'  and  she  sat  down  with  her  back  to  the  crowd. 

A  woman,  apparently  of  the  small  shopkeeping  class,  was  already 
established  at  one  end  of  the  only  bench  anywhere  near  the  cart. 
Her  child  who  was  playing  about,  was  neatly  dressed,  and  to  Vida's 
surprise  wore  sandals  on  her  stockingless  feet.  This  fashion  for 
children,  which  had  been  growing  for  years  among  the  upper 
classes,  had  found  little  imitation  among  tradesmen  or  working 
people.  They  presumably  were  still  too  near  the  difficulty  of 
keeping  their  children  in  shoes  and  stockings,  to  be  able  to  see 
anything  but  a  confession  of  failure  in  going  without.  In  the 
same  way,  the  'Simple  Life,'  when  led  by  the  rich,  wears  to  the 
poverty-struck  an  aspect  of  masked  meanness  —  a  matter  far  less 
tolerable  in  the  eyes  of  the  pauper  than  the  traditional  splendour 
of  extravagance  in  the  upper  class,  an  extravagance  that  feeds 
more  than  the  famished  stomach  with  the  crumbs  that  it  lets  fall. 

As  Miss  Levering  sat  watching  the  child,  and  wondering  a  little 
at  the  sandals,  the  woman  caught  her  eye. 

'  Could  you  please  tell  me  the  time  ? '  she  asked. 

Miss  Levering  took  out  her  watch,  and  then  spoke  of  the  wisdom 
of  that  plan  of  sandals. 

The  woman  answered  with  such  self-possession  and  good  sense, 
that  the  lady  sent  a  half-amused  glance  over  her  shoulder  as  if 
relishing  in  advance  the  sturdy  disapproval  of  this  highly  respect 
able  young  mother  when  she  should  come  to  realize  how  near  she 
and  the  precious  daughter  were  to  the  rostrum  of  the  Shrieking 
Sisterhood.  It  might  be  worth  prolonging  the  discussion  upon 
health  and  education  for  the  amusement  there  would  be  in  seeing 
what  form  condemnation  of  the  Suffragettes  took  among  people 
of  this  kind.  By  turning  her  head  to  one  side,  out  of  the  tail  of 
her  eye  the  lady  could  see  that  an  excitement  of  some  sort  was 
agitating  the  crowd.  The  voices  rose  more  shrill.  People  craned 
and  pushed.  A  derisive  cheer  went  up  as  a  woman  appeared  on 
the  cart.  The  wearer  of  the  tam-o'-shanter!  Three  others  fol 
lowed  —  all  women.  Miss  Levering  saw  without  seeming  to  look, 
still  listening  while  the  practical-minded  mother  talked  on  about 


THE   CONVERT  97 

her  child,  and  what  'was  good  for  it.'  All  life  had  resolved  itself 
into  pursuit  of  that. 

An  air  of  semi-abstraction  came  over  the  lady.  It  was  as  if  in 
the  presence  of  this  excellent  bourgeoise  she  felt  an  absurd  con 
straint  in  showing  an  interest  in  the  proceedings  of  these  unsexed 
creatures  behind  them. 

To  her  obvious  astonishment  the  mother  of  the  child  was  the 
first  to  jump  up. 

'  Now  they're  going  to  begin ! '  she  said  briskly. 

'Who?'  asked  Miss  Levering. 

'Why,  the  Suffrage  people.' 

'Oh!    Are  you  going  to  listen  to  them?' 

'Yes;  that's  what  I've  come  all  this  way  for.'  And  she  and  her 
bare-legged  offspring  melted  into  the  growing  crowd. 

Vida  turned  to  the  maid  and  met  her  superior  smile.  'That 
woman  says  she  has  come  a  long  way  to  hear  these  people  advocat 
ing  Woman's  Suffrage,'  and  slowly  with  an  air  of  complete  detach 
ment  she  approached  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  followed  by  the  super 
cilious  maid.  They  were  quickly  hemmed  in  by  people  who  seemed 
to  spring  up  out  of  the  ground.  It  was  curious  to  look  back  over 
the  vivid  green  expanse  and  see  the  dotted  humanity  running  like 
ants  from  all  directions  to  listen  to  this  handful  of  dowdy  women 
in  a  cart ! 

In  finding  her  way  through  the  crowd  it  would  appear  that  the 
lady  was  not  much  sustained  by  the  presence  of  a  servant,  however 
well-meaning.  Much  out  of  place  in  such  a  gathering  as  Mrs. 
Fox-Moore  or  any  ultra-oldfashioned  woman  was,  still  more 
incongruous  showed  there  the  relation  of  mistress  and  maid. 
The  punctilious  Gorringe  was  plainly  horrified  at  the  proximity 
to  her  mistress  of  these  canaille,  and  the  mistress  was  not  so 
absorbed  it  would  seem  but  what  she  felt  the  affront  to  seemliness 
in  a  servant's  seeing  her  pushed  and  shoved  aside  —  treated  with 
slight  regard  or  none.  Necessary  either  to  leave  the  scene  with 
lofty  disapproval,  or  else  make  light  of  the  discomfort. 

'It  doesn't  matter!'  she  assured  the  girl,  who  was  trying  to 
protect  her  mistress's  dainty  wrap  from  contact  with  a  grimy 
tramp.  And,  again,  when  half  a  dozen  boys  forced  their  way 
past,  'It's  all  right !'  she  nodded  to  the  maid,  'it's  no  worse  than 
the  crowd  at  Charing  Cross  coming  over  from  Paris.' 


98  THE   CONVERT 

But  it  was  much  worse,  and  Gorringe  knew  it.  'The  old  man 
is  standing  on  your  gown,  miss.' 

'Oh,  would  you  mind '  Miss  Levering  politely  suggested 

another  place  for  his  feet. 

But  the  old  man  had  no  mind  left  for  a  mere  bystander  —  it  was 
all  absorbed  in  Suffragettes. 

"is  feet  are  filthy  muddy,  'm,J  whispered  Gorringe. 

It  may  have  been  in  part  the  maid's  genteel  horror  of  such 
proximities  that  steeled  Miss  Levering  to  endure  them.  Under 
circumstances  like  these  the  observant  are  reminded  that  no 
section  of  the  modern  community  is  so  scornfully  aristocratic 
as  our  servants.  Their  horror  of  the  meanly-apparelled  and  the 
humble  is  beyond  the  scorn  of  kings.  The  fine  lady  shares  her 
shrinking  with  those  inveterate  enemies  of  democracy,  the  lackey 
who  shuts  the  door  in  the  shabby  stranger's  face,  and  the  dog 
who  barks  a  beggar  from  the  gate. 

And  so  while  the  maid  drew  her  own  skirts  aside  and  held  her 
nose  high  in  the  air,  the  gentlewoman  stood  faintly  smiling  at  the 
queer  scene. 

Alas !  no  Mrs.  Chisholm.  It  looked  as  if  they  must  have  been 
hard  up  for  speakers  to-day,  for  two  of  them  were  younger  even 
than  Miss  Claxton  of  the  tam-o'-shanter.  One  of  them  couldn't 
be  more  than  nineteen. 

1  How  dreadful  to  put  such  very  young  girls  up  there  to  be  stared 
at  by  all  these  louts ! ' 

'  Oh,  yes,  'm,  quite  'orrid,'  agreed  the  maid,  but  with  the  air  of 
'What  can  you  expect  of  persons  so  low?' 

'However,  the  young  girls  seem  to  have  as  much  self-possession 
as  the  older  ones  1 '  pursued  Miss  Levering,  as  she  looked  in  vain 
for  any  sign  of  flinching  from  the  sallies  of  cockney  impudence 
directed  at  the  occupants  of  the  cart. 

They  exhibited,  too,  what  was  perhaps  even  stranger  —  an 
utter  absence  of  any  flaunting  of  courage  or  the  smallest  show  of 
defiance.  What  was  this  armour  that  looked  like  mere  indiffer 
ence?  It  couldn't  be  that  those  quiet-looking  young  girls  were 
indifferent  to  the  ordeal  of  standing  up  there  before  a  crowd  of 
jeering  rowdies  whose  less  objectionable  utterances  were:  'Where 
did  you  get  that  'at  ? '  '  The  one  in  green  is  my  girl  1 '  '  Got  yer 
dog-whip,  miss?'  and  such-like  utterances. 


THE   CONVERT  99 

The  person  thus  pointedly  alluded  to  left  her  companions  ranged 
along  the  side  of  the  cart  against  the  background  of  banner,  while 
she,  the  famous  Miss  Claxton,  took  the  meeting  in  charge.  She 
wasted  no  time,  this  lady.  Her  opening  remarks,  which,  in  the 
face  of  a  fire  of  interruption,  took  the  form  of  an  attack  upon  the 
Government,  showed  her  an  alert,  competent,  cut-and-thrust, 
imperturbably  self-possessed  politician,  who  knew  every  aspect 
of  the  history  of  the  movement,  as  able  to  answer  any  intelligent 
question  off-hand  as  to  snub  an  impudent  irrelevance,  able  to  take 
up  a  point  and  drive  it  well  in  —  to  shrug  and  smile  or  frown  and 
point  her  finger,  all  with  most  telling  effect,  and  keep  the  majority 
of  her  audience  with  her  every  minute  of  the  time. 

As  a  mere  exhibition  of  nerve  it  was  a  thing  to  make  you  open 
your  eyes.  Only  a  moment  was  she  arrested  by  either  booing  or 
applause.  When  a  knot  of  young  men,  who  had  pushed  their 
way  near  the  front,  kept  on  shouting  argument  and  abuse,  she 
interrupted  her  harangue  an  instant.  Pointing  out  the  ring 
leader  — 

'Now  you  be  quiet,  if  you  please,'  she  said.  'These  people  are 
here  to  listen  to  me? 

'No,  they  ain't.     They  come  to  see  wot  you  look  like.' 

'That  can't  be  so,'  she  said  calmly,  'because  after  they've  seen 
us  they  stay.'  Then,  as  the  interrupter  began  again,  'No,  it's  no 
use,  my  man '  —  she  shook  her  head  gently  as  if  almost  sorry  for 
him —  'you  can't  talk  me  down !' 

'Now,  ain't  that  just  like  a  woman!'  he  complained  to  the 
crowd. 

Just  in  front  of  where  Miss  Levering  and  her  satellite  first  came 
to  a  standstill,  was  a  cheerful,  big,  sandy  man  with  long  flowing 
moustachios,  a  polo  cap,  and  a  very  dirty  collar.  At  intervals  he 
inquired  of  the  men  around  him,  in  a  great  jovial  voice,  'Are  we 
down- 'carted?'  as  though  the  meeting  had  been  called,  not  for 
the  purpose  of  rousing  interest  in  the  question  of  woman's  share 
in  the  work  of  the  world,  but  as  though  its  object  were  to  humiliate 
and  disfranchise  the  men.  But  his  exclamation,  repeated  at  inter 
vals,  came  in  as  a  sort  of  refrain  to  the  rest  of  the  proceedings. 

'The  Conservatives,'  said  the  speaker,  'had  never  pretended 
they  favoured  broadening  the  basis  of  the  franchise.  But  here 
were  these  Liberals,  for  thirty  years  they'd  been  saying  that  the 


ioo  THE   CONVERT 

demand  on  the  part  of  women  for  political  recognition  commanded 
their  respect,  and  would  have  their  support,  and  yet  there  were 
four  hundred  and  odd  members  who  had  got  into  the  House  of 
Commons  very  largely  through  the  efforts  of  women  —  oh,  yes, 
we  know  all  about  that !  We've  been  helping  the  men  at  elections 
for  years.' 

'What  party?' 

Adroitly  she  replied,  'We  have  members  of  every  party  in  our 
ranks.' 

'Are  you  a  Conservative?' 

'No,  I  myself  am  not  a  Conservative ' 

'You  work  for  the  Labour  men  —  I  know ! ' 

'It's  child's  play  belonging  to  any  party  till  we  get  the  vote/ 
she  dismissed  it.  'In  future  we  are  neither  for  Liberal  nor  Con 
servative  nor  Labour.  We  are  for  Women.  When  we  get  the 
sex  bar  removed,  it  will  be  time  for  us  to  sort  ourselves  into  parties. 
At  present  we  are  united  against  any  Government  that  continues 
to  ignore  its  duty  to  the  women  of  the  country.  In  the  past  we 
were  so  confiding  that  when  a  candidate  said  he  was  in  favour  of 
Woman's  Suffrage  (he  was  usually  a  Liberal),  we  worked  like 
slaves  to  get  that  man  elected,  so  that  a  voice  might  be  raised  for 
women's  interests  in  the  next  Parliament.  Again  and  again  the 
man  we  worked  for  got  in.  But  the  voice  that  was  to  speak  for 
us  —  that  voice  was  mute.  We  had  served  his  purpose  in  helping 
him  to  win  his  seat,  and  we  found  ourselves  invariably  forgotten 
or  ignored.  The  Conservatives  have  never  shown  the  abysmal 
hypocrisy  of  the  Liberals.  We  can  get  on  with  our  open  enemies ; 
it's  these  cowards '  ('  Boo  ! '  and  groans)  —  '  these  cowards,  I  say 
—  who,  in  order  to  sneak  into  a  place  in  the  House,  pretend  to 
sympathize  with  this  reform  —  who  use  us,  and  then  betray  us ; 
it's  these  who  are  women's  enemies ! ' 

'Why  are  you  always  worrying  the  Liberals?  Why  don't  you 
ask  the  Conservatives  to  give  you  the  vote?' 

'You  don't  go  to  a  person  for  something  he  hasn't  got  unless 
you're  a  fool.  The  Liberals  are  in  power;  the  Liberals  were 
readiest  with  fair  promises;  and  so  we  go  to  the  Liberals.  And 
we  shall  continue  to  go  to  them.  We  shall  never  leave  off'  (boos 
and  groans)  'till  they  leave  office.  Then  we'll  begin  on  the  Con 
servatives.'  She  ended  in  a  chorus  of  laughter  and  cheers,  'I  will 


THE   CONVERT  101 

now  call  upon  Miss  Cynthia  Chisholm  to  propose  the  resolution.' 

Wherewith  the  chairman  gave  way  to  the  younger  of  the  two 
girls.  This  one  of  the  Gracchi  —  a  gentle-seeming  creature,  care 
lessly  dressed,  grave  and  simple  —  faced  the  mob  with  evident 
trepidation,  a  few  notes,  to  which  she  never  referred,  in  her  shak 
ing  hand.  What  brought  a  girl  like  that  here  ?  —  was  the  question 
on  the  few  thoughtful  faces  in  the  crowd  confronting  her.  She 
answered  the  query  by  introducing  the  resolution  in  an  earnest 
little  speech  which,  if  it  didn't  show  that  much  of  the  failure  and 
suffering  that  darken  the  face  of  the  world  is  due  to  women's  false 
position,  showed,  at  all  events,  that  this  young  creature  held  a 
burning  conviction  that  the  subjection  of  her  sex  was  the  world's 
Root-Evil.  With  no  apparent  apprehension  of  the  colossal  audacity 
of  her  position,  the  girl  moved  gravely  that  '  this  meeting  demands, 
of  the  Government  the  insertion  of  an  enfranchisement  clause  in 
the  Plural  Voting  Bill,  and  demands  that  it  shall  become  law  during 
the  present  session.'  Her  ignorance  of  Parliamentary  procedure 
was  freely  pointed  out  to  her. 

'No,'  she  said,  'it  is  you  who  are  ignorant  —  of  how  pressing 
the  need  is.  You  say  it  is  "out  of  order."  If  treating  the  women 
of  the  country  fairly  is  out  of  order,  it  is  only  because  men  have 
made  a  poor  sort  of  order.  It  is  the  order  that  should  be  changed.* 

Of  course  that  dictum  received  its  due  amount  of  hooting. 

'The  vote  is  the  reward  for  defending  the  country,'  said  a  voice. 

'No,'  said  the  girl  promptly,  'for  soldiers  and  sailors  don't 
vote.' 

'It  implies  fitness  for  military  service,'  somebody  amended. 

'It  shouldn't?  said  Nineteen,  calmly;  'it  ought  to  imply  merely 
a  stake  in  the  country.  No  one  denies  we  have  that.' 

The  crowd  kept  on  about  soldiering,  till  the  speaker  was  goaded 
into  saying  — 

'I  don't  say  women  like  fighting,  but  women  can  fight!  In 
these  days  warfare  isn't  any  more  a  matter  of  great  physical 
strength,  and  a  woman  can  pull  a  trigger  as  well  as  a  man.  The 
Boer  women  found  that  out  —  and  so  has  the  Russian.  I  don't 
like  thinking  about  it  myself  —  for  I  seem  to  realize  too  clearly 
what  horrors  those  women  endured  before  they  could  carry  bombs 
or  shoulder  rifles.' 

'Rifles ?    Why  a  woman  can't  never  hit  nothing.1 


102  THE   CONVERT 

'  It  is  quite  true  we  can't  most  of  us  even  throw  a  stone  straight 
-  the  great  mass  of  women  never  in  all  their  lives  wanted  to  hit 
anybody  or  anything.  And  that '  —  she  came  nearer,  and  leaned 
over  the  side  of  the  cart  with  scared  face  —  '  it's  that  that  makes  it 
so  dreadful  to  realize  how  at  last  when  women's  eyes  are  opened 
—  when  they  see  their  homes  and  the  holiest  things  in  life  threat 
ened  and  despised,  how  quickly  after  all  they  can  learn  the  art  of 
war.' 

1  With  hatpins  ! '   some  one  called  out. 

'Yes,  scratching  and  spitting,'  another  added. 

That  sort  of  interruption  did  not  so  much  embarrass  her,  but 
once  or  twice  she  was  nearly  thrown  off  her  beam-ends  by  men  and 
boys  shouting,  'Wot's  the  matter  with  yer  anyway?  Can't  yer 
get  a  husband?'  and  such-like  brilliant  relevancies.  Although 
she  flushed  at  some  of  these  sallies,  she  stuck  to  her  guns  with  a 
pluck  that  won  her  friends.  In  one  of  the  pauses  a  choleric  old 
man  gesticulated  with  his  umbrella. 

'If  what  the  world  needed  was  Woman's  Suffrage,  it  wouldn't 
have  been  left  for  a  minx  like  you  to  discover  it.'  At  which  volleys 
of  approval. 

'  That  gentleman  seems  to  think  it's  a  new  madness  that  we've 
recently  invented.'  The  child  seemed  in  her  loneliness  to  reach 
out  for  companioning.  She  spoke  of  '  our  friend  John  Stuart 
Mill.' 

'Go's  Mill?' 

'That  great  Liberal  wrote  in  1867 '  But  Mill  and  she  were 

drowned  together.  She  waited  a  moment  for  the  flood  of  derision 
to  subside. 

"E  wouldn't  'ad  nothin'  to  do  with  yer  if  'e'd  thought  you'd 
go  on  like  you  done.' 

'  Benjamin  Disraeli  was  on  our  side.  Mazzini  —  Charles 
Kingsley.  As  long  ago  as  1870,  a  Woman's  Suffrage  Bill  that  was 
drafted  by  Dr.  Pankhurst  and  Mr.  Jacob  Bright  passed  a  second 
reading." 

'The  best  sort  of  women  never  wanted  it.' 

'  The  kind  of  women  in  the  past  who  cared  to  be  associated  with 
this  reform  —  they  were  women  like  Florence  Nightingale,  arid 
Harriet  Martineau,  and  Josephine  Butler,  and  the  two  thousand 
other  women  of  influence  who  memorialized  Mr.  Gladstone,' 


THE   CONVERT  103 

Something  was  called  out  that  Vida  could  not  hear,  but  that 
brought  the  painful  scarlet  into  the  young  face. 

'Shame!  shame!'  Some  of  the  men  were  denouncing  the 
interjection. 

After  a  little  pause  the  girl  found  her  voice.  'You  make  it 
difficult  for  me  to  tell  you  what  I  think  you  ought  to  know.  I  don't 
believe  I  could  go  on  if  I  didn't  see  over  there  the  Reformer's 
Tree.  It  makes  me  think  of  how  much  had  to  be  borne  before  other 
changes  could  be  brought  about.'  She  reminded  the  people  of 
what  had  been  said  and  suffered  on  that  very  spot  in  the  past,  be 
fore  the  men  standing  before  her  had  got  the  liberties  they  enjoyed 
to-day. 

'They  were  men/9 

'Yes,  and  so  perhaps  it  wasn't  so  hard  for  them.  I  don't 
know,  and  I'm  sure  it  was  hard  enough.  When  we  women  re 
member  what  they  suffered  —  though  you  think  meanly  of  us  be 
cause  we  can't  be  soldiers,  you  may  as  well  know  we  are  ready  to 
do  whatever  has  to  be  done  —  we  are  ready  to  bear  whatever  has 
to  be  borne.  There  seem  to  be  things  harder  to  face  than  bullets, 
but  it  doesn't  matter,  they'll  be  faced.' 

The  lady  standing  with  her  maid  in  the  incongruous  crowd, 
looked  round  once  or  twice  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  say,  'How 
much  stranger  life  is  than  we  are  half  the  time  aware,  and  how 
much  stranger  it  bids  fair  to  be ! '  The  rude  platform  with  the 
scarlet  backing  flaming  in  the  face  of  the  glorious  summer  after 
noon,  near  the  very  spot  upon  which  the  great  battles  for  Reform 
had  been  fought  out  in  the  past,  and  in  place  of  England's  sturdy 
freeman  making  his  historic  appeal  for  justice,  and  admission  to  the 
Commons  —  a  girl  pouring  out  this  stream  of  vigorous  English, 
upholding  the  cause  her  family  had  stood  for.  Her  voice  failed 
her  a  little  towards  the  close,  or  rather  it  did  not  so  much  fail  as 
betray  to  any  sensitive  listener  the  degree  of  strain  she  put  upon  it 
to  make  it  carry  above  laughter  and  interjection.  As  she  raised 
the  note  she  bent  over  the  crowd,  leaning  forward,  with  her  neck 
outstretched,  the  cords  in  it  swelling,  and  the  heat  of  the  sun  bring 
ing  a  flush  and  a  moisture  to  her  face,  steadying  her  voice  as  the 
thought  of  the  struggle  to  come,  shook  and  clouded  it,  and  calling 
on  the  people  to  judge  of  this  matter  without  prejudice.  It  was  a 
thing  to  live  in  the  memory  —  the  vision  of  that  earnest  child  trying 


io4  THE   CONVERT 

to  fire  the  London  louts  with  the  great  names  of  the  past,  and  fail 
ing  to  see  her  bite  her  lip  to  keep  back  tears,  and,  bending  over 
the  rabble,  find  a  choked  voice  to  say  — 

'If  your  forefathers  and  foremothers  who  suffered  for  the 
freedom  you  young  men  enjoy  —  if  they  could  come  out  of  their 
graves  to-day  and  see  how  their  descendants  use  the  great  privileges 
they  won  —  I  believe  they  would  go  back  into  their  graves  and  pull 
the  shrouds  over  their  eyes  to  hide  them  from  your  shame  ! ' 

'  Hear !   Hear  1 '     '  Right  you  are. ' 

But  she  was  done.  She  turned  away,  and  found  friendly 
hands  stretched  out  to  draw  her  to  a  seat. 

The  next  speaker  was  an  alert  little  woman  with  a  provincial 
accent  and  the  briskness  of  a  cock-sparrow,  whose  prettiness, 
combined  with  pertness,  rather  demoralized  the  mob. 

'Men  and  women,'  she  began,  pitching  her  rather  thin  voice 
several  notes  too  high. 

'  Men  and  women  ! '  some  one  piped  in  mimicry ;  and  the  crowd 
dissolved  in  laughter. 

It  was  curious  to  note  again  how  that  occasional  exaggerated 
shrillness  of  the  feminine  voice  when  raised  in  the  open  air  — 
how  it  amused  the  mob.  They  imitated  the  falsetto  with  squeals 
of  delight.  Each  time  she  began  afresh  she  was  met  by  the  shrill 
echo  of  her  own  voice.  The  contest  went  on  for  several  minutes. 
The  spectacle  of  the  agitated  little  figure,  bobbing  and  gesticulating 
and  nothing  heard  but  shrill  squeaks,  raised  a  very  pandemonium 
of  merriment.  It  didn't  mend  matters  for  her  to  say  when  she  did 
get  a  hearing  — 

'I've  come  all  the  way  from '  (place  indistinguishable  in  the 

confusion)  'to  talk  to  you  this  afternoon ' 

"owkind!' 

'  Do  you  reely  think  they  could  spare  you  ? ' 

'And  I'm  going  to  convert  every  man  within  reach  of  my  voice.' 

Groans,  and  *  Hear !    Hear  1 ' 

'  Let's  see  you  try  ! ' 

She  talked  on  quite  inaudibly  for  the  most  part.  A  phrase 
here  and  there  came  out,  and  the  rest  lost.  So  much  hilarity 
in  the  crowd  attracted  to  it  a  bibulous  gentleman,  who  kept  calling 
out,  '  Oh,  the  pretty  dear  1 '  to  the  rapture  of  the  bystanders.  He 
became  so  elevated  that  the  police  were  obliged  to  remove  him. 


THE   CONVERT  105 

When  the  excitement  attending  this  passage  had  calmed  down,  the 
reformer  was  perceived  to  be  still  piping  away. 

'  'ow  long  are  you  goin'  on  like  this  ? ' 

'Ain't  you  never  goin'  to  stop?' 

'Oh,  not  for  a  long  time,'  she  shrilled  cheerfully.  'I've  got  the 
accumulations  of  centimes  on  me,  and  I'm  only  just  beginning  to 
unload !  Although  we  haven't  got  the  vote  —  not  yet  —  never 
mind,  we've  got  our  tongues  ! ' 

'  Lord,  don't  we  know  it ! '  said  a  sad-faced  gentleman,  in  a  rusty 
topper. 

'This  one's  too  intolerable,'  said  a  man  to  his  companion. 

'Yes;  she  ought  to  be  smacked.' 

They  melted  out  of  the  crowd. 

'We've  got  our  tongues,  and  I've  been  going  round  among  all 
the  women  I  know  getting  them  to  promise  to  use  their 
tongues ' 

'You  stand  up  there  and  tell  us  they  needed  urgin'  ?' 

'To  use  their  tongues  to  such  purpose  that  it  won't  be  women, 
but  men,  who  get  up  the  next  monster  petition  to  Parliament  ask 
ing  for  Woman's  Suffrage." 

She  went  down  under  a  flood  of  jeers,  and  rose  to  the  surface 
again  to  say  — 

'A  man's  petition,  praying  Parliament  for  goodness'  sake  give 
those  women  the  vote !  Yes,  you'd  better  be  seeing  about  that 
petition,  my  friends,  for  I  tell  you  there  isn't  going  to  be  any 
peace  till  we  get  the  franchise.' 

'  Aw  now,  they'd  give  you  anything ! ' 

When  the  jeering  had  died  a  little,  and  she  came  to  the  top  once 
more,  she  was  discovered  to  be  shouting  — 

'You  men  'ad  just  better  keep  an  eye  on  us ' 

'  Can't  take  our  eyes  off  yer ! ' 

'  We  Suffragettes  never  have  a  Day  of  Rest !  Every  day  in  the 
week,  while  you  men  are  at  work  or  sitting  in  the  public-house, 
we  are  visiting  the  women  in  their  homes,  explaining  and  stirring 
them  up  to  a  sense  of  their  wrongs.' 

'  This  I  should  call  an  example  of  what  not  to  say  I '  remarked 
a  shrewd-looking  man  with  a  grin. 

The  crowd  were  ragging  the  speaker  again,  while  she 
shouted  — 


io6  THE   CONVERT 

'  We  are  going  to  effect  such  a  revolution  as  the  world  has  never 
seen!' 

'  I'd  like  to  bash  her  head  for  her ! ' 

'We  let  them  know  that  so  long  as  women  have  no  citizenship 
they  are  outside  the  pale  of  the  law.  If  we  are  outside  the  law,  we 
can't  break  the  law.  It  is  not  our  fault  that  we're  outlaws.  It  is 
you  men's  fault.' 

'Don't  say  that/  said  a  voice  in  mock  agony.  'I  love  you 
so.' 

'I  know  you  can't  help  it/  she  retorted. 

'If  we  gave  you  the  vote,  what  would  you  do  with  it?  Put  it 
in  a  pie  ? ' 

'Well,  I  wouldn't  make  the  hash  of  it  you  men  do!'  and  she 
turned  the  laugh.  '  Look  at  you !  Look  at  you  1 '  she  said,  when 
quiet  was  restored. 

The  young  revellers  gave  a  rather  blank  snigger,  as  though  they 
had  all  along  supposed  looking  at  them  to  be  an  exhilarating  occu 
pation  for  any  young  woman. 

'  What  do  you  do  with  your  power  ?  You  throw  it  away.  You 
submit  to  being  taxed  and  to  our  being  taxed  to  the  tune  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty-seven  millions,  that  a  war  may  be  carried  on 
in  South  Africa  —  a  war  that  most  of  you  know  nothing  about 
and  care  nothing  about  —  a  war  that  some  of  us  knew  only  too 
much  about,  and  wanted  only  to  see  abandoned.  We  see  con 
stantly  how  you  men  either  misuse  the  power  you  have  or  you  don't 
use  it  at  all.  Don't  appreciate  it.  Don't  know  what  to  do  with  it. 
Haven't  a  notion  you  ought  to  be  turning  it  into  good  for  the  world. 
Hundreds  of  men  don't  care  anything  about  political  influence, 
except  that  women  shouldn't  have  it.' 

She  was  getting  on  better  till  some  one  called  out,  'You  ought 
to  get  married.' 

'I'm  going  to.  If  you  don't  be  good  you  won't  be  asked  to  the 
wedding.' 

Before  the  temptation  of  a  retort  she  had  dropped  her  argu 
ment  and  encouraged  personalities.  In  vain  she  tried  to  recover 
that  thread  of  attention  which,  not  her  interrupter,  but  herself  had 
snapped.  She  retired  in  the  midst  of  uproar. 

The  chairman  came  forward  and  berated  the  crowd  for  its  un- 
English  behaviour  in  not  giving  a  speaker  a  fair  hearing. 


THE   CONVERT  107 

A  man  held  up  a  walking-stick.  '  Will  you  just  tell  me  one  thing, 
miss  — 

'  Not  now.  When  the  last  speaker  has  finished  there  will  be  ten 
minutes  for  questions.  And  I  may  say  that  it  is  a  great  and  rare 
pleasure  to  have  any  that  are  intelligent.  Don't  waste  anything  so 
precious.  Just  save  it  up  till  you're  asked  for  it.  I  want  you  now 
to  give  a  fair  hearing  to  Mrs.  Bewley.' 

This  was  a  wizened  creature  of  about  fifty,  in  rusty  black,  widow 
of  a  stonemason  and  mother  of  four  children  —  'four  livin', 
she  said  with  some  significance.  She  added  her  mite  of  testimony 
to  that  of  the  96,000  organized  women  of  the  mills,  that  the  workers 
in  her  way  of  life  realized  how  their  condition  and  that  of  the  chil 
dren  would  be  improved  'if  the  women  'ad  some  say  in  things.' 

'It's  quite  certain,'  she  assured  the  people,  'there  ought  to  be 
women  relief-officers  and  matrons  in  the  prisons.  And  it's  very 
'ard  on  women  that  there  isn't  the  same  cheap  lodgin'-'ouse  ac 
commodation  fur  single  women  as  there  is  fur  single  men.  It's  very 
'ard  on  poor  girls.  It's  worse  than  'ard.  But  men  won't  never 
change  that.  We  women  'as  got  to  do  it.' 

'  Go  'ome  and  get  your  'usban's  tea  ! '  said  a  new-comer,  squeez 
ing  her  way  into  the  tight-packed  throng,  a  queer  little  woman 
about  the  same  age  as  the  speaker,  but  dressed  in  purple  silk  and 
velvet,  and  wearing  a  wonderful  purple  plush  hat  on  a  wig  of  sandy 
curls.  She  might  have  been  a  prosperous  milliner  from  the  Com 
mercial  Road,  and  she  had  a  meek  man  along  who  wore  the  hus 
band's  air  of  depressed  responsibility.  She  was  spared  the  hu 
miliating  knowledge,  but  she  was  taken  at  first  for  a  sympathizer 
with  the  Cause.  In  manners  she  was  precisely  like  what  the  Suf 
fragette  was  at  that  time  expected  to  be,  pushing  her  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  vociferating  '  Shyme  1 '  to  all  and  sundry.  The  men 
who  had  been  pleasantly  occupied  in  boo-ing  the  speaker  turned 
and  glared  at  her.  The  hang-dog  husband  had  an  air  of  not  ob 
serving.  Some  of  the  boys  pushed  and  harried  her,  but,  to  their 
obvious  surprise,  they  heard  her  advising  the  rusty  widow :  '  Go 
'ome  and  get  your  'usban's  tea ! '  She  varied  that  advice  by  re 
peating  hoT  favourite  '  Shyme  ! '  varied  by  '  Wot  beay viour !  —  old 
enough  to  know  better.  Every  good  wife  oughter  stay  at  'ome  and 
darn  'er  'usban's  socks  and  make  'im  comftubble.' 

After  delivering  which  womanly  sentiment  she  would  nod  her 


io8  THE  CONVERT 

purple  plumes  and  smile  at  the  men.  It  was  the  sorriest  travesty 
of  similar  scenes  in  a  politer  world.  To  the  credit  of  the  loafers 
about  her,  they  did  not  greatly  encourage  her.  She  was  perhaps 
overmature  for  her  role.  But  they  ceased  to  jostle  her.  They  even 
allowed  her  to  get  in  front  of  them.  The  tall,  rusty  woman  in  the 
cart  was  meanwhile  telling  a  story  of  personal  experience  of  the 
operation  of  some  law  which  shut  out  from  any  share  in  the  benefits 
of  the  new  Act  which  regulates  the  feeding  of  school  children,  the 
very  people  most  in  need  of  it.  For  it  appeared  that  orphans  and 
the  children  of  widows  were  excluded.  The  Bill  provided  only  for 
children  living  under  their  father's  roof.  If  the  roof  was  kept  over 
them  by  the  shackled  hands  of  the  mother,  according  to  the  speaker, 
they  might  go  hungry. 

'No,  no,'  Miss  Levering  shook  her  head,  explaining  to  her  maid. 
'I  don't  doubt  the  poor  soul  has  had  some  difficulty,  some  hard 
experience,  but  she  can't  be  quoting  the  law  correctly.' 

Nevertheless,  in  the  halting  words  of  the  woman  who  had  suf 
fered,  if  only  from  misapprehension  upon  so  grave  a  point,  there 
was  a  rude  eloquence  that  overbore  the  lady's  incredulity.  The 
crowd  hissed  such  gross  unfairness. 

'If  women  'ad  'ave  made  the  laws,  do  you  think  we'd  'ave  'ad 
one  like  that  disgracin'  the  statue-book?  No  !  And  in  all  sorts  o' 
ways  it  looks  like  the  law  seems  to  think  a  child's  got  only  one 
parent.  I'd  like  to  tell  them  gentlemen  that  makes  the  laws  that 
(it  may  be  different  in  their  world,  I  only  speak  for  my  little  corner 
of  it)  —  but  in  'Ackney  it  looks  like  when  a  child's  got  only  one 
parent,  that  one  is  the  mother.' 

'  Sy,  let  up,  old  gal !  there's  some  o'  them  young  ones  ain't  'ad 
a  show  yet.' 

'  About  time  you  had  a  rest,  mother ! ' 

'If  the. mother  dies,'  she  was  saying,  'wot  'appens?' 

'Let's  'ope  she  goes  to  heaven.' 

'Wot  'appens  to  the  pore  little  'ome  w'en  the  mother  dies? 
Why,  the  pore  little  home  is  sold  up,  and  the  children's  scattered 
among  relations,  or  sent  out  so  young  to  work  it  makes  yer  'art 
ache.  But  if  a  man  dies  —  you  see  it  on  every  side,  in  'Ackney  — 
the  widow  takes  in  sewin',  or  goes  out  charin',  or  does  other  peo 
ple's  washin'  as  well  as  'er  own,  or  she  mykes  boxes  —  something 
er  ruther,  any'ow,  that  makes  it  possible  fur  'er  to  keep  'er  'ome 


THE   CONVERT  109 

together.  You  don't  see  the  mother  scatterin'  the  little  family 
w'en  the  only  parent  the  law  seems  to  reconize  is  dead  and  gone. 
I  say ' 

'You've  a  been  sayin'  it  for  a  good  while.  You  must  be  needin' 
a  cup  o'  tea  yerself.' 

'In  India  I'm  told  they  burn  the  widows.  In  England  they  do 
worse  than  that.  They  keep  them  half  alive.' 

The  crowd  rose  to  that,  with  the  pinched  proof  before  their 
eyes. 

'Just  enough  alive  to  suffer  through  their  children.  And  so 
the  workin'  women  round  about  where  I  live  —  that's  'Ackney  — 
they  say  if  we  ain't  'eathins  in  this  country  let's  give  up  'eathin 
ways.  Let  the  mothers  o'  this  country  'ave  their  'ands  untied. 
We're  willin'  to  work  for  our  children,  but  it  breaks  our  'earts  to 
work  without  tools.  The  tool  we're  needin'  is  the  tool  that  mends 
the  laws.  I  'ave  pleasure  in  secondin'  the  resolution.' 

With  nervously  twitching  lips  the  woman  sat  down.  They 
cheered  her  lustily  —  a  little  out  of  sympathy,  a  good  deal  from 
relief  that  she  had  finished,  and  a  very  different  sort  of  person 
was  being  introduced  by  the  chairman. 


CHAPTER  IX 

'I  WILL  now  call  upon  the  last  speaker.  Yes,  I  will  answer 
any  general  questions  after  Miss  Ernestine  Blunt  has  spoken.' 

'Oh,  Isy!' 

"Ere's  Miss  Blunt.' 

'Not  that  little  one?' 

'Yes.     This  is  the  one  I  was  tellin'  you  about.' 

People  pushed  and  craned  their  necks,  the  crowd  swayed  as 
the  other  one  of  the  two  youngest  'Suffragettes'  came  forward. 
She  had  been  sitting  very  quietly  in  her  corner  of  the  cart,  looking 
the  least  concerned  person  in  Hyde  Park.  Almost  dull  the  round 
rather  pouting  face  with  the  vivid  scarlet  lips ;  almost  spleepy  the 
heavy-lidded  eyes.  But  when  she  had  taken  the  speaker's  post 
above  the  crowd,  the  onlooker  wondered  why  he  had  not  noticed 
her  before. 

It  seemed  probable  that  all  save  those  quite  new  to  the  scene 
had  been  keeping  an  eye  on  this  person,  who,  despite  her  childish 
look,  was  plainly  no  new  recruit.  Her  self-possession  demon 
strated  that  as  abundantly  as  the  reception  she  got  —  the  vigorous 
hoots  and  hoorays  in  the  midst  of  clapping  and  cries  — 

'Does  your  mother  know  you're  out?' 

'  Go  'ome  and  darn  your  stockens.' 

'Hurrah!' 

'  You're  a  disgryce  ! ' 

'I  bet  on  little  Blunt!' 

'Boo!' 

Even  in  that  portion  of  the  crowd  that  did  not  relieve  its  feelings 
by  either  talking  or  shouting,  there  was  observable  the  indefinable 
something  that  says,  'Now  the  real  fun's  going  to  begin.'  You 
see  the  same  sort  of  manifestation  in  the  playhouse  when  the 
favourite  comedian  makes  his  entrance.  He  may  have  come  on 
quite  soberly  only  to  say,  'Tea  is  ready,'  but  the  grin  on  the 


THE   CONVERT  in 

face  of  the  public  is  as  ready  as  the  tea.  The  people  sit  forward 
on  the  edge  of  their  seats,  and  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  theatre 
undergoes  some  subtle  change.  So  it  was  here. 

And  yet  in  this  young  woman  was  the  most  complete  lack  of  any 
dependence  upon  'wiles'  that  platform  ever  saw.  Her  little  off 
hand  manner  seemed  to  say,  '  Don't  expect  me  to  encourage  you 
in  any  nonsense,  and,  above  all,  don't  dare  to  presume  upon  my 
youth.' 

She  began  by  calling  on  the  Government  to  save  the  need  of 
further  demonstration  by  giving  the  women  of  the  country  some 
speedy  measure  of  justice.  'They'll  have  to  give  it  to  us  in  the 
end.  They  might  just  as  well  do  it  gracefully  and  at  once  as  do 
it  grudgingly  and  after  more  "scenes. " :  Whereupon  loud  booing 
testified  to  the  audience's  horror  of  anything  approaching  unruly 
behaviour.  '  Oh,  yes,  you  are  scandalized  at  the  trouble  we  make. 
But  —  I'll  tell  you  a  secret'  —  she  paused  and  collected  every  eye 
and  ear  —  'we've  only  just  begun!  You'd  be  simply  staggered  if 
you  knew  what  the  Government  still  has  to  expect  from  us,  if 
they  don't  give  us  what  we're  asking  for.' 

'Oh,  ain't  she  just  awful!'  sniggered  a  girl  with  dyed  hair  and 
gorgeous  jewelry. 

The  men  laughed  and  shook  their  heads.  She  just  was !  They 
crowded  nearer. 

'You'd  better  take  care!  There's  a  policeman  with  'is  eye  on 
you.' 

'  It's  on  you,  my  friends,  he's  got  his  eye.  You  saw  a  little  while 
ago  how  they  had  to  take  away  somebody  for  disturbing  our  meet 
ing.  It  wasn't  a  woman.' 

'  Hear,  hear ! ' 

'  The  police  are  our  friends,  when  the  Government  allows  them 
to  be.  The  other  day  when  there  was  that  scene  in  the  House, 
one  of  the  policemen  who  was  sent  up  to  clear  the  gallery  said  he 
wished  the  members  would  come  and  do  their  own  dirty  work. 
They  hate  molesting  us.  We  don't  blame  the  police.  We  put  the 
blame  where  it  belongs  —  on  the  Liberal  Government.' 

'  Pore  old  Gov'mint  —  gettin'  it  'ot  1 ' 

'  Hooray  fur  the  Gov'mint ! ' 

'We  see  at  last  —  it's  taken  us  a  long  time,  but  we  see  at  last  — 
women  get  nothing  even  from  their  professed  political  friends, 


ii2  THE   CONVERT 

they've  nothing  whatever  to  expect  by  waiting  and  being  what's 
called  "  ladylike.'" 

'Shame!' 

'  We  don't  want  to  depreciate  the  work  of  preparation  the  older, 
the  " ladylike,"  Suffrage  women  did,  but  we  came  at  last  to  see 
that  all  that  was  possible  to  accomplish  that  way  had  been  done. 
The  Cause  hadn't  moved  an  inch  for  years.  It  was  even  doing  the 
other  thing.  Yes,  it  was  going  backward.  Even  the  miserable 
little  pettifogging  share  women  had  had  in  Urban  and  Borough 
Councils  —  even  that  they  were  deprived  of.  And  they  were 
tamely  submitting !  Women  who  had  been  splendid  workers  ten 
years  ago,  women  with  the  best  capacities  for  public  service,  had 
fallen  into  a  kind  of  apathy.  They  were  utterly  disheartened. 
Many  had  given  up  the  struggle.  That  was  the  state  of  affairs 
with  regard  to  Woman's  Suffrage  only  a  few  short  months  ago. 
We  looked  at  the  Suffragists  who  had  grown  grey  in  petitioning 
Parliament  and  being  constitutional  and  "  ladylike,"  and  we  said, 
"That's  no  good."' 

Through  roars  of  laughter  and  indistinguishable  denunciation 
certain  fragments  rose  clear  — 

'  So  you  tried  being  a  public  nuisance ! ' 

'  A  laughing-stock  I ' 

'When  we  got  to  the  place  where  we  were  a  public  laughing 
stock  we  knew  we  were  getting  on.'  The  audience  screamed. 
'We  began  to  feel  encouraged!'  A  very  hurricane  swept  the 
crowd.  Perhaps  it  was  chiefly  at  the  gleam  of  eye  and  funny  little 
wag  of  the  head  with  the  big  floppity  hat  that  made  the  people 
roar  with  delight.  'Yes;  when  things  got  to  that  point  even  the 
worst  old  fogey  in  the  Cabinet ' 

'  Name !    Name ! ' 

'No,  we  are  merciful.  We  withhold  the  name!'  She  smiled 
significantly,  while  the  crowd  yelled.  '  Even  the  very  fogeyest  of 
them  all  you'd  think  might  have  rubbed  his  eyes  and  said,  "Every 
body's  laughing  at  them  —  why,  there  must  be  something  serious 
at  the  bottom  of  this  ! "  But  no ;  the  members  of  the  present  Gov 
ernment  never  rub  their  eyes.' 

'If  you  mean  the  Prime  Minister ' 

'Hooray  for  the ' 

Through  the  cheering  you  heard  Ernestine  saying,  '  No,  I  didn't 


THE   CONVERT  113 

mean  the  Prime  Minister.  The  Prime  Minister,  between  you  and 
me,  is  as  good  a  Suffragist  as  any  of  us.  Only  he  —  —  well,  he 
likes  his  comfort,  does  the  Prime  Minister ! ' 

When  Ernestine  looked  like  that  the  crowd  roared  with  laugh 
ter.  Yet  it  was  impossible  not  to  feel  that  when  she  herself  smiled 
it  was  because  she  couldn't  help  it,  and  not,  singularly  enough, 
because  of  any  dependence  she  placed  upon  the  value  of  dimples 
as  an  asset  of  persuasion.  What  she  seemed  to  be  after  was  to  stir 
these  people  up.  It  could  not  be  denied  that  she  knew  how  to  do 
it,  any  more  than  it  could  be  doubted  that  she  was  ignorant  of  how 
large  a  part  in  her  success  was  played  by  a  peculiarly  amusing  and 
provocative  personality.  Always  she  was  the  first  to  be  grave 
again. 

.  'Now  if  you  noisy  young  men  can  manage  to  keep  quiet  for  a 
minute,  I'll  tell  you  a  little  about  our  tactics,'  she  said  obligingly. 

'We  know  !     Breakin'  up  meetings !' 

'Rotten  tactics!' 

'That  only  shows  you  don't  understand  them  yet.  Now  I'll 
explain  to  you.' 

A  little  wind  had  sprung  up  and  ruffled  her  hair.  It  blew  open 
her  long  plain  coat.  It  even  threatened  to  carry  away  her  foolish 
flapping  hat.  She  held  it  on  at  critical  moments,  and  tilted  her 
delicate  little  Greuze-like  face  at  a  bewitching  angle,  and  all  the 
while  that  she  was  looking  so  fetching,  she  was  briskly  trouncing 
by  turns  the  Liberal  party  and  the  delighted  crowd.  The  man 
of  the  long  moustachios,  who  had  been  swept  to  the  other  side  of  the 
monument,  returned  to  his  old  inquiry  with  mounting  cheer  — 

'  Are  we  down'earted  ?    Oh,  no  ! ' 

'  Pore  man  !     'Ave  a  little  pity  on  us,  miss  ! ' 

There  were  others  who  edged  nearer,  narrowing  their  eyes  and 
squaring  their  shoulders  as  much  as  to  say,  'Now  we'll  just  trip 
her  up  at  the  first  opportunity.' 

'That's  a  very  black  cloud,  miss,'  Gorringe  had  whispered 
several  minutes  before  a  big  raindrop  had  fallen  on  the  lady's 
upturned  face. 

As  Gorringe  seemed  to  be  the  only  one  who  had  observed  the 
overclouding  of  the  sky,  so  she  seemed  to  be  the  only  one  to  think 
it  mattered  much.  But  one  by  one,  like  some  species  of  enormous 
black  'four-o-clocks,'  umbrellas  blossomed  above  the  undergrowth 


ii4  THE   CONVERT 

at  the  foot  of  the  monument.  The  lady  of  the  purple  plumes  had 
long  vanished.  A  few  others  moved  off,  head  turned  over  shoulder, 
as  if  doubtful  of  the  policy  of  leaving  while  Ernestine  was  explain 
ing  things.  The  great  majority  turned  up  their  coat  collars  and 
stood  their  ground.  The  maid  hurriedly  produced  an  umbrella 
and  held  it  over  the  lady. 

*  'Igher  up,  please,  miss  1     Caun't  see,'  said  a  youth  behind. 

Nothing  cloudy  about  Ernestine's  policy:  Independence  of  all 
parties,  and  organized  opposition  to  whatever  Government  was  in 
power,  until  something  was  done  to  prove  it  that  friend  to  women 
it  pretended  to  be. 

'We  are  tired  of  being  lied  to  and  cheated.  There  isn't  a  man 
in  the  world  whose  promise  at  election  time  I  would  trust ! ' 

It  struck  some  common  chord  in  the  gathering.  They  roared 
with  appreciation,  partly  to  hear  that  baby  saying  it. 

'  No,  not  one  1 '  she  repeated  stoutly,  taking  the  raindrops  in 
her  face,  while  the  risen  wind  tugged  at  her  wide  hat.  '  They'll 
promise  us  heaven,  and  earth,  and  the  moon,  and  the  stars,  just 
to  get  our  help.  Oh,  we  are  old  hands  at  it  now,  and  we  can  see 
through  the  game  1 ' 

'  Old  'and  she  is !     Ha  !  ha  !     Old  'and ! ' 

'  Do  they  let  you  sit  up  for  supper  ? ' 

'We  are  going  to  every  contested  election  from  this  on.' 

'  Lord,  yes !     Rain  or  shine  they  don't  mind ! ' 

'They'll  find  they'll  always  have  us  to  reckon  with.  And  we 
aren't  the  least  bit  impressed  any  more,  when  a  candidate  tells  us 
he's  in  favour  of  Woman's  Suffrage.  We  say,  "  Oh,  we've  got  four 
hundred  and  twenty  of  your  kind  already  ! " ' 

'Oh!  oh!' 

'Haw!   haw!' 

'Oo  did  you  say  that  to?' 

By  name  she  held  up  to  scorn  the  candidates  who  had  given  every 
reason  for  the  general  belief  that  they  were  indifferent,  if  not  op 
posed,  to  Woman's  Suffrage  till  the  moment  came  for  contesting 
a  seat. 

'  Then  when  they  find  us  there  (we  hear  it  keeps  them  awake  at 
night,  thinking  we  always  will  be  there  in  future !)  —  when  they 
find  us  there,  they  hold  up  their  little  white  flags.  Yes.  And  they 
say, "  Oh,  but  I'm  in  favour  of  Votes  for  Women ! "  We  just  smile.' 


THE   CONVERT  115 

The  damp  gathering  in  front  of  her  hallooed. 

'Yes.  And  when  they  protest  what  splendid  friends  of  the 
Suffrage  they  are,  we  say,  "  You  don't  care  twopence  about  it. 
You  are  like  the  humbugs  who  are  there  in  the  House  of  Commons 
already."' 

'  Humbugs ! ' 

'  Calls  'em  'umbugs  to  their  fyces  !     Haw !  haw ! ' 

Roars  and  booing  filled  the  air. 

'We  know,  for  many  of  us  helped  to  put  them  there.  But  that 
was  before  we  knew  any  better.  Never  again  ! ' 

Once  more  that  wise  little  wag  of  the  head,  while  the  people 
shrieked  with  laughter.  It  was  highly  refreshing  to  think  those 
Government  blokes  couldn't  take  in  Ernestine. 

'It's  only  the  very  young  or  the  very  foolish  who  will  ever  be 
caught  that  way  again,'  she  assured  them. 

"Ow  old  are  you?' 

'Much  too  old  to ' 

'Just  the  right  age  to  think  about  gettin'  married,'  shouted  a 
pasty-faced  youth, 

'Haw!   haw!' 

Then  a  very  penetrating  voice  screamed,  '  Will  you  be  mine  ? ' 
and  that  started  off  several  others.  Though  the  interruptions  did 
not  anger  nor  in  the  least  discompose  this  surprising  young  person 
in  the  cart  —  so  far  at  least  as  could  be  seen  —  the  audience  looked 
in  vain  for  her  to  give  the  notice  to  these  that  she  had  to  other 
interruptions.  It  began  to  be  plain  that,  ready  as  she  was  to  take 
fa  straight  ball'  from  anybody  in  the  crowd,  she  discouraged  im 
pertinence  by  dint  of  an  invincible  deafness.  If  you  wanted  to  get 
a  rise  out  of  Ernestine  you  had  to  talk  about  her  'bloomin'  policy.' 
No  hint  in  her  of  the  cheap  smartness  that  had  wrecked  the  other 
speaker.  In  that  highly  original  place  for  such  manifestation, 
Ernestine  offered  all  unconsciously  a  new  lesson  of  the  moral  value 
that  may  lie  in  good-breeding.  She  won  the  loutish  crowd  to  listen 
to  her  on  her  own  terms. 

'Both  parties,'  she  was  saying,  'have  been  glad  enough  to  use 
women's  help  to  get  candidates  elected.  We've  been  quite  intelli 
gent  enough  to  canvass  for  them;  we  were  intelligent  enough  to 
explain  to  the  ignorant  men  —  She  acknowledged  the  groans 

by  saying, '  Of  course  there  are  none  of  that  sort  here,  but  elsewhere 


n6  THE   CONVERT 

there  are  such  things  as  ignorant  men,  and  women  by  dozens  and 
by  scores  are  sent  about  to  explain  to  them  why  they  should  vote 
this  way  or  that.  But  as  the  chairman  told  you,  any  woman  who 
does  that  kind  of  thing  in  the  future  is  a  very  poor  creature.  She 
deserves  no  sympathy  when  her  candidate  forgets  his  pledge  and 
sneers  at  Womanhood  in  the  House.  If  we  put  ourselves  under 
men's  feet  we  must  expect  to  be  trodden  on.  We've  come  to  think 
it's  time  women  should  give  up  the  door-mat  attitude.  That's 
why  we've  determined  on  a  policy  of  independence.  We  see  how 
well  independence  has  worked  for  the  Irish  party  —  we  see  what 
a  power  in  the  House  even  the  little  Labour  party  is,  with  only 
thirty  members.  Some  say  those  thirty  Labour  members  lead  the 
great  Liberal  majority  by  the  nose ' 

'Hear!  hear!' 

'Rot!' 

They  began  to  cheer  Lothian  Scott.  Some  one  tossed  Mr. 
Chamberlain's  name  into  the  air.  Like  a  paper  balloon  it  was  kept 
afloat  by  vigorous  puffings  of  the  human  breath.  '  'Ray  fur  Joe  ! ' 
'  Three  cheers  for  Joe ! '  —  and  it  looked  as  if  Ernestine  had  lost 
them. 

'  Listen  ! '  She  held  out  her  hands  for  silence,  but  the  tumult 
only  grew.  '  Just  a  moment.  I  want  to  tell  you  men  —  here's 
a  friend  of  yours  —  he's  a  new-comer,  but  he  looks  just  your  kind  ! 
Give  him  a  hearing.'  She  strained  her  voice  to  overtop  the  din. 
'He's  a  Liberal.' 

'Hooray!' 

'Yes,  I  thought  you'd  listen  to  a  Liberal.  He's  asking  that  old 
question,  Why  did  we  wait  till  the  Liberals  came  in  ?  Why  didn't 
we  worry  the  Conservatives  when  they  were  in  power?  The  an 
swer  to  that  is  that  the  Woman's  Suffrage  cause  was  then  still  in 
the  stage  of  mild  constitutional  propaganda.  Women  were  still 
occupied  in  being  ladylike  and  trying  to  get  justice  by  deserving 
it.  Now  wait  a  moment.'  She  stemmed  another  torrent.  'Be 
quiet,  while  I  tell  you  something.  You  men  have  taught  us  that 
women  can  get  a  great  deal  by  coaxing,  often  far  more  than  we 
deserve !  But  justice  isn't  one  of  the  things  that's  ever  got  that 
way.  Justice  has  to  be  fought  for.  Justice  has  to  be  won.' 

Howls  and  uproar. 

'  You  men '  (it  began  to  be  apparent  that  whenever  the 


THE   CONVERT  117 

roaring  got  so  loud  that  it  threatened  to  drown  her,  she  said,  'You 
men  — '  very  loud,  and  then  gave  her  voice  a  rest  while  the  din 
died  down  that  they  might  hear  what  else  the  irrepressible  Ernes 
tine  had  to  say  upon  that  absorbing  topic) .  '  You  men  discovered 
years  ago  that  you  weren't  going  to  get  justice  just  by  deserving  it, 
or  even  by  being  men,  so  when  you  got  tired  of  asking  politely  for 
the  franchise,  you  took  to  smashing  windows  and  burning  down 
Custom  Houses,  and  overturning  Bishops'  carriages;  while  we, 
why,  we  haven't  so  much  as  upset  a  curate  off  a  bicycle  ! ' 

Others  might  laugh,  not  Ernestine. 

'You  men,'  she  went  on,  'got  up  riots  in  the  streets  —  real  riots 
where  people  lost  their  lives.  It  may  have  to  come  to  that  with  us. 
But  the  Government  may  as  well  know  that  if  women's  political 
freedom  has  to  be  bought  with  blood,  we  can  pay  that  price,  too.' 

Above  a  volley  of  boos  and  groans  she  went  on,  'But  we  are 
opposed  to  violence,  and  it  will  be  our  last  resort.  We  are  leaving 
none  of  the  more  civilized  ways  untried.  We  publish  a  great 
amount  of  literature  —  I  hope  you  are  all  buying  some  of  it  — 
you  can't  understand  our  movement  unless  you  do  !  We  organize 
branch  unions  and  we  hire  halls  —  we've  got  the  Somerset  Hall  to 
night,  and  we  hope  you'll  all  come  and  bring  your  friends.  We 
have  very  interesting  debates,  and  we  answer  questions,  politely ! ' 
she  made  her  point  to  laughter.  'We  don't  leave  any  stone  un 
turned.  Because  there  are  people  who  don't  buy  our  literature, 
and  who  don't  realize  how  interesting  the  Somerset  Hall  debates 
are,  we  go  into  the  public  places  where  the  idle  and  the  foolish, 
like  that  man  just  over  there  !  —  where  they  may  point  and  laugh 
and  make  their  poor  little  jokes.  But  let  me  tell  you  we  never  hold 
a  meeting  where  we  don't  win  friends  to  our  cause.  A  lot  of  you 
who  are  jeering  and  interrupting  now  are  going  to  be  among  our 
best  friends.  All  the  intelligent  ones  are  going  to  be  on  our  side.' 

Above  the  laughter,  a  rich  groggy  voice  was  heard,  'Them  that's 
against  yer  are  all  drunk,  miss'  (hiccup).  'D — don't  mind  'em  !' 

Ernestine  just  gave  them  time  to  appreciate  that,  and  then  went 
on  — 

'Men  and  women  were  never  meant  to  fight  except  side  by  side. 
You've  been  told  by  one  of  the  other  speakers  how  the  men  suffer 
by  the  women  more  and  more  underselling  them  in  the  Labour 
market ! 


n8  THE   CONVERT 

'Don't  need  no  tellinV 

'Bloody  black-legs!' 

'Do  you  know  how  that  has  come  about?  I'll  tell  you.  It's 
come  about  through  your  keeping  the  women  out  of  your  Unions. 
You  never  would  have  done  that  if  they'd  had  votes.  You  saw 
the  important  people  ignored  them.  You  thought  it  was  safe  for 
you  to  do  the  same.  But  I  tell  you  it  isn't  ever  safe  to  ignore  the 
women ! ' 

High  over  the  groans  and  laughter  the  voice  went  on,  'You  men 
have  got  to  realize  that  if  our  battle  against  the  common  enemy 
is  to  be  won,  you've  got  to  bring  the  women  into  line.' 

'What's  to  become  of  chivalry?' 

'What  has  become  of  chivalry?'  she  retorted;  and  no  one 
seemed  to  have  an  answer  ready,  but  the  crowd  fell  silent,  like 
people  determined  to  puzzle  out  a  conundrum. 

'Don't  you  know  that  there  are  girls  and  women  in  this  very 
city  who  are  working  early  and  late  for  rich  men,  and  who  are  ex 
pected  by  those  same  employers  to  live  on  six  shillings  a  week? 
Perhaps  I'm  wrong  in  saying  the  men  expect  the  women  to  live 
on  that.  It  may  be  they  know  that  no  girl  can  —  it  may  be  the 
men  know  how  that  struggle  ends.  But  do  they  care  ?  Do  they 
bother  about  chivalry?  Yet  they  and  all  of  you  are  dreadfully 
exercised  for  fear  having  a  vote  would  unsex  women.  We  are  too 
delicate  —  women  are  such  fragile  flowers.'  The  little  face  was 
ablaze  with  scorn.  '  I  saw  some  of  those  fragile  flowers  last  week — 
and  I'll  tell  you  where.  Not  a  very  good  place  for  gardening.  It 
was  a  back  street  in  Liverpool.  The  "flowers'"  (oh,  the  contempt 
with  which  she  loaded  the  innocent  word !)  —  '  the  flowers  looked 
pretty  dusty  —  but  they  weren't  quite  dead.  I  stood  and  looked 
at  them !  hundreds  of  worn  women  coming  down  steep  stairs  and 
pouring  out  into  the  street.  What  had  they  all  been  doing  there 
in  that  —  garden,  I  was  going  to  say !  —  that  big  grimy  building  ? 
They  had  been  making  cigars  !  —  spending  the  best  years  of  their 
lives,  spending  all  their  youth  in  that  grim  dirty  street  making 
cigars  for  men.  Whose  chivalry  prevents  that?  Why  were  they 
coming  out  at  that  hour  of  the  day?  Because  their  poor  little 
wages  were  going  to  be  lowered,  and  with:  the  courage  of  'despair 
they  were  going  on  strike.  No  chivalry  prevents  men  from  getting 
women  at  the  very  lowest  possible  wage  —  (I  want  you  to  notice 


THE   CONVERT  119 

the  low  wage  is  the  main  consideration  in  all  this)  —  men  get  these 
women,  that  they  say  are  so  tender  and  delicate,  to  undertake  the 
almost  intolerable  toil  of  the  rope-walk.  They  get  women  to 
make  bricks.  Girls  are  driven  —  when  they  are  not  driven  to 
worse  —  they  are  driven  to  being  lodging-house  slaveys  or  over 
worked  scullions.  That's  all  right !  Women  are  graciously  per 
mitted  to  sweat  over  other  people's  washing,  when  they  should  be 
caring  for  their  own  babies.  In  Birmingham'  —  she  raised  the 
clear  voice  and  bent  her  flushed  face  over  the  crowd  —  '  in  Bir 
mingham  those  same  "fragile  flowers"  make  bicycles  to  keep 
alive !  At  Cradley  Heath  we  make  chains.  At  the  pit  brows  we 
sort  coal.  But  a  vote  would  soil  our  hands !  You  may  wear  out 
women's  lives  in  factories,  you  may  sweat  them  in  the  slums,  you 
may  drive  them  to  the  streets.  You  do.  But  a  vote  would  unsex 
them.' 

Her  full  throat  choked.  She  pressed  her  clenched  fist  against 
her  chest  and  seemed  to  admonish  herself  that  emotion  wasn't  her 
line. 

'  If  you  are  intelligent  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  women  are 
exploited  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  the  land.  And  yet  you 
come  talking  about  chivalry !  Now,  I'll  just  tell  you  men  some 
thing  for  your  future  guidance.'  She  leaned  far  out  over  the  crowd 
and  won  a  watchful  silence.  'That  talk  about  chivalry  makes 
women  sick.'  In  the  midst  of  the  roar,  she  cried,  '  Yes,  they  mayn't 
always  show  it,  for  women  have  had  to  learn  to  conceal  their 
deepest  feelings,  but  depend  on  it  that's  how  they  feel.' 

Then,  apparently  thinking  she'd  been  serious  enough,  'There 
might  be  some  sense  in  talking  to  us  about  chivalry  if  you  paid  our 
taxes  for  us,'  she  said;  while  the  people  recovered  their  spirits  in 
roaring  with  delight  at  the  coolness  of  that  suggestion. 

'  If  you  forgave  us  our  crimes  because  we  are  women !  If  you 
gave  annuities  to  the  eighty-two  women  out  of  every  hundred  in 
this  country  who  are  slaving  to  earn  their  bread  —  many  of  them 
having  to  provide  for  their  children;  some  of  them  having 
to  feed  sick  husbands  or  old  parents.  But  chivalry  doesn't 
carry  you  men  as  far  as  that !  No  !  No  further  than  the  door ! 
You'll  hold  that  open  for  a  lady  and  then  expect  her  to  grovel 
before  such  an  exhibition  of  chivalry!  We  don't  need  it,  thank 
you !  We  can  open  doors  for  ourselves.' 


120  THE   CONVERT 

She  had  quite  recovered  her  self-possession,  and  it  looked,  as 
she  faced  the  wind  and  the  raindrops,  as  if  she  were  going  to  wind 
up  in  first-class  fighting  form.  The  umbrellas  went  down  before 
a  gleam  of  returning  sun.  An  aged  woman  in  rusty  black,  who 
late  in  the  proceedings  had  timidly  adventured  a  little  way  into 
the  crowd,  stood  there  lost  and  wondering.  She  had  peered  about 
during  the  last  part  of  Miss  Blunt's  speech  with  faded  incredulous 
eyes,  listened  to  a  sentence  or  two,  and  then,  turning  with  a  pathetic 
little  nervous  laugh  of  apology,  consulted  the  faces  of  the  Lords  of 
Creation.  When  the  speaker  was  warned  that  a  policeman  had 
his  eye  on  her,  the  little  old  woman's  instant  solicitude  showed  that 
the  dauntless  Suffragist  had  both  touched  and  frightened  her.  She 
craned  forward  with  a  fluttering  anxiety  till  she  could  see  for  her 
self.  Yes  !  A  stern-looking  policeman  coming  slow  and  majestic 
through  the  crowd.  Was  he  going  to  hale  the  girl  off  to  Hollo- 
way?  No;  he  came  to  a  standstill  near  some  rowdy  boys,  and 
he  stared  straight  before  him  —  herculean,  impassive,  the  very 
image  of  conscious  authority.  Whenever  Ernestine  said  anything 
particularly  dreadful,  the  old  lady  craned  her  neck  to  see  how  the 
policeman  was  taking  it.  When  Ernestine  fell  to  drubbing  the 
Government,  the  old  lady,  in  her  agitation  greatly  daring,  squeezed 
up  a  little  nearer  as  if  half  of  a  mind  to  try  to  placate  that  august 
image  of  the  Power  that  was  being  flouted.  But  it  ended  only  in 
trembling  and  furtive  watching,  till  Ernestine's  reckless  scorn  at  the 
idea  of  chivalry  moved  the  ancient  dame  faintly  to  admonish  the 
girl,  as  a  nurse  might  speak  to  a  wilful  child.  'Dear !  Dear!'  — 
and  then  furtively  trying  to  soothe  the  great  policeman  she  twit 
tered  at  his  elbow,  '  No  !  No  !  she  don't  mean  it ! ' 

When  Ernestine  declared  that  women  could  open  doors  for 
themselves,  some  one  called  out  — 

'When  do  you  expect  to  be  a  K.C. ?' 

'Oh,  quite  soon,'  she  answered  cheerfully,  with  her  wind-blown 
hat  rakishly  over  one  ear,  while  the  boys  jeered. 

'Well,'  said  the  policeman,  'she's  pawsed  'er  law  examination ! ' 
As  some  of  the  rowdiest  boys,  naturally  surprised  at  this  inter 
jection,  looked  round,  he  rubbed  it  in.  'Did  better  than  the  men/ 
he  assured  them. 

Was  it  possible  that  this  dread  myrmidon  of  the  law  was  vaunt 
ing  the  prowess  of  the  small  rebel? 


THE   CONVERT  121 

Miss  Levering  moved  nearer.  '  Is  that  so  ?  Did  I  understand 
you ' 

With  a  surly  face  he  glanced  round  at  her.  Not  for  this  lady's 
benefit  had  the  admission  been  made. 

'  So  they  say ! '  he  observed,  with  an  assumption  of  indifference, 
quite  other  than  the  tone  in  which  he  had  betrayed  where  his 
sympathies,  in  spite  of  himself,  really  were.  Well,  well,  there  were 
all  kinds,  even  of  people  who  looked  so  much  alike  as  policemen. 

Now  the  crowd,  with  him  and  Miss  Levering  as  sole  exceptions, 
were  dissolved  again  in  laughter.  What  had  that  girl  been  saying  ? 

'Yes,  we're  spectres  at  the  Liberal  feast;  and  we're  becoming 
inconveniently  numerous.  We've  got  friends  everywhere.  Up 
and  down  the  country  we  go  organizing  — 

'  'Ow  do  you  go  —  in  a  pram  ? '  At  which  the  crowd  rocked  with 
delight. 

The  only  person  who  hadn't  heard  the  sally,  you  would  say, 
was  the  orator.  On  she  went  — 

*  Organizing  branches  and  carrying  forward  the  work  of  propa 
ganda.  You  people  in  London  stroll  about  with  your  hands  in 
your  pockets  and  your  hats  on  the  back  of  your  heads,  and  with 
never  a  notion  of  what's  going  on  in  the  wrorld  that  thinks  and 
works.  That's  the  world  that's  making  the  future.  Some  of  you 
understand  it  so  little  you  think  all  that  we  tell  you  is  a  joke  — 
just  as  the  governing  class  used  to  laugh  at  the  idea  of  a  Labour 
Party  in  conservative  England.  While  those  people  were  laugh 
ing,  the  Labour  men  were  at  work.  They  talked  and  wrote ;  they 
lectured,  and  printed,  and  distributed,  and  organized,  and  one  fine 
day  there  was  a  General  Election  !  To  everybody's  astonishment, 
thirty  Labour  men  were  returned  to  Parliament !  Just  that  same 
sort  of  thing  is  going  on  now  among  women.  We  have  our  people 
at  work  everywhere.  And  let  me  tell  you,  the  most  wonderful  part 
of  it  all  is  to  discover  how  little  teaching  we  have  to  do.  How 
ready  the  women  are,  all  over  the  three  kingdoms.' 

'Rot!' 

'The  women  are  against  it.' 

'Read  the  letters  in  the  papers.' 

'Why  don't  more  women  come  to  hear  you  if  they're  so  in 
favour?' 

'The  converted  don't  need  to  come.    It's  you  who  need  to 


122  THE   CONVERT 

come!'  Above  roars  of  derision:  'You  felt  that  or,  of  course, 
you  wouldn't  be  here.  Men  are  so  reasonable  !  As  to  the  women 
who  write  letters  to  the  papers  to  say  they're  against  the  Suffrage, 
they  are  very  ignorant,  those  ladies,  or  else  it  may  be  they  write 
their  foolish  letters  to  please  their  menfolk.  Some  of  them,  I 
know,  think  the  end  and  aim  of  woman  is  to  please.  I  don't  blame 
them ;  it's  the  penalty  of  belonging  to  the  parasite  class.  But  those 
women  are  a  poor  little  handful.  They  write  letters  to  prove  that 
they  "  don't  count,"  and  they  prove  it.1  She  waved  them  away 
with  one  slim  hand.  'That's  one  reason  we  don't  bother  much 
with  holding  drawing-room  meetings.  The  older  Suffragists  have 
been  holding  drawing-room  meetings  for  forty  years  / '  She  brought 
it  out  to  shouts.  'But  we  go  to  the  mill  gates !  That's  where  we 
hold  our  meetings!  We  hold  them  at  the  pit-brow;  we  hold 
them  everywhere  that  men  and  women  are  working  and  suffering 
and  hoping  for  a  better  time.' 

With  that  Miss  Ernestine  sat  down.  They  applauded  her 
lustily;  they  revelled  in  laughing  praise,  yielding  to  a  glow  that 
they  imagined  to  be  pure  magnanimity. 

'Are  there  any  questions?'  Miss  Claxton,  with  her  eyes  still 
screwed  up  to  meet  the  returning  sun  and  the  volley  of  interrog 
atory,  appeared  at  the  side  of  the  cart.  '  Now,  one  at  a  time,  please. 
What?  I  can't  hear  when  you  all  talk  together.  Write  it  down 
and  hand  it  to  me.  Now,  you  people  who  are  nearer  —  what? 
Very  well !  Here's  a  man  who  wants  to  know  whether  if  women 
had  the  vote  wouldn't  it  make  dissension  in  the  house,  when  hus 
band  and  wife  held  different  views  ?'  She  had  smiled  and  nodded, 
as  though  in  this  question  she  welcomed  an  old  friend,  but  instead 
of  answering  it  she  turned  to  the  opposite  side  and  looked  out 
over  the  clamourers  on  the  left.  They  were  engaged  for  the  most 
part  in  inquiring  about  her  matrimonial  prospects,  and  why  she 
had  carried  that  dog-whip.  Something  in  her  face  made  them  fall 
silent,  for  it  was  both  good-humoured  and  expectant,  even  intent. 
'I'm  waiting,'  she  said,  after  a  little  pause.  'At  every  meeting  we 
hold  there's  usually  another  question  put  at  the  same  time  as  that 
first  one  about  the  quarrels  that  will  come  of  husbands  and  wives 
holding  different  opinions.  As  though  the  quarrelsome  ones  had 
been  waiting  for  women's  suffrage  before  they  fell  ojut !  When  the 
man  on  my  right  asks,  "Wouldn't  they  quarrel?"  there's  almost 


THE  CONVERT  123 

always  another  man  on  my  left  who  says,  "If  women  were  enfran 
chised  we  wouldn't  be  an  inch  forrader,  because  the  wife  would 
vote  as  her  husband  told  her  to.  The  man's  vote  would  simply 
be  duplicated,  and  things  would  be  exactly  as  they  were."  Neither 
objector  seems  to  see  that  the  one  scruple  cancels  the  other.  But 
to  the  question  put  this  afternoon,  I'll  just  say  this.'  She  bent 
forward,  and  she  held  up  her  hand.  'To  the  end  of  time  there'll 
be  people  who  won't  rest  till  they've  found  something  to  quarrel 
about.  And  to  the  end  of  time  there'll  be  wives  who  follow  blindly 
where  their  husbands  lead.  And  to  the  end  of  time  there'll  be  hus 
bands  who  are  influenced  by  their  wives.  What's  more,  all  this 
has  gone  on  ever  since  there  were  husbands,  and  it  will  go  on  as 
long  as  there  are  any  left,  and  it's  got  no  more  to  do  with  women's 
voting  than  it  has  with  their  making  cream  tarts.  No,  not  half 
as  much!'  she  laughed.  'Now,  where's  that  question  that  you 
were  going  to  write?' 

Some  one  handed  up  a  wisp  of  white  paper.  Miss  Claxton 
opened  it,  and  upon  the  subject  presented  she  embarked  with 
the  promising  beginning,  *  Your  economics  are  pretty  wobbly,  my 
friend,'  and  proceeded  to  clear  the  matter  up  and  incidentally  to 
flatten  out  the  man.  One  wondered  that  under  such  auspices 
'Question  Time'  was  as  popular  as  it  obviously  was.  There  is  no 
doubt  a  fearful  joy  in  adventuring  yourself  in  certain  danger  before 
the  public  eye.  Besides  the  excitement  of  taking  a  personal  share 
in  the  game,  there  is  always  the  hope  that  it  may  have  been  re 
served  to  you  to  stump  the  speaker  and  to  shine  before  the  multi 
tude. 

A  gentleman  who  had  vainly  been  trying  to  get  her  to  hear  him, 
again  asked  something  in  a  hesitating  way,  stumbling  and  going 
back  to  recast  the  form  of  his  question. 

He  was  evidently  quite  in  earnest,  but  either  unaccustomed  to 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice  or  unnerved  to  find  himself  bandying 
words  in  Hyde  Park  with  a  Suffragette.  So  when  he  stuck  fast 
in  the  act  of  fashioning  his  phrases,  Miss  Claxton  bent  in  the  direc 
tion  whence  the  voice  issued,  and  said,  briskly  obliging  — 

'You  needn't  go  on.  I  know  the  rest.  What  this  gentleman  is 
trying  to  ask  is ' 

And  although  no  denial  on  his  part  reached  the  public  ear,  it 
was  not  hard  to  imagine  him  seething  with  indignation,  down  there 


124  THE   CONVERT 

helpless  in  his  crowded  corner,  while  the  facile  speaker  propounded 
as  well  as  demolished  his  objection  to  her  and  all  her  works. 

'Yes;  one  last  question.     Let  us  have  it.' 

'  How  can  you  pretend  that  women  want  the  vote  ?  Why,  there 
are  hardly  any  here.' 

'More  women  would  join  us  openly  but  for  fear  of  their  fellow- 
cowards.  Thousands  upon  thousands  of  women  feel  a  sympathy 
with  this  movement  they  dare  not  show.' 

'Lots  of  women  don't  want  the  vote.' 

'What  women  don't  want  it?  Are  you  worrying  about  a  hand 
ful  who  think  because  they  have  been  trained  to  like  subservience 
everybody  else  ought  to  like  subservience,  too  ?  The  very  existence 
of  a  movement  like  this  is  a  thorn  in  their  sleek  sides.  We  are  a 
reproach  and  a  menace  to  such  women.  But  this  isn't  a  move 
ment  to  compel  anybody  to  vote.  It  is  to  give  the  right  to  those 
who  do  want  it  —  to  those  signatories  of  the  second  largest  petition 
ever  laid  on  the  table  of  the  House  of  Commons  —  to  the  96,000 
textile  workers  —  to  the  women  who  went  last  month  in  deputation 
to  the  Prime  Minister,  and  who  represented  over  half  a  million 
belonging  to  Trades  Unions  and  organized  societies.  To  —  per 
haps  more  than  all,  to  the  unorganized  women,  those  whose  voices 
are  never  heard  in  public.  They,  as  Mrs.  Bewley  told  you  —  they 
are  beginning  to  want  it.  The  women  who  are  made  to  work  over 
hours  —  they  want  the  vote.  To  compel  them  to  work  over  hours 
is  illegal.  But  who  troubles  to  see  that  laws  are  fairly  interpreted 
for  the  unrepresented  ?  I  know  a  factory  where  a  notice  went  up 
yesterday  to  say  that  the  women  employed  there  will  be  required 
to  work  twelve  hours  a  day  for  the  next  few  weeks.  Instead  of 
starting  at  eight,  they  must  begin  at  six,  and  work  till  seven.  The 
hours  in  this  particular  case  are  illegal  —  as  the  employer  will 
find  out !'  she  threw  in  with  a  flash,  and  one  saw  by  that  illumi 
nation  the  avenue  through  which  his  enlightenment  would  come. 
'But  in  many  shops  where  women  work,  twelve  hours  a  day  is 
legal.  Much  of  women's  employment  is  absolutely  unrestricted, 
except  that  they  may  not  be  worked  on  Sunday.  And  while  all 
that  is  going  on,  comfortable  gentlemen  sit  in  armchairs  and  write 
alarmist  articles  about  the  falling  birth-rate  and  the  horrible 
amount  of  infant  mortality.  A  Government  calling  itself  Liberal 
goes  pettifogging  on  about  side  issues,  while  women  are  debased 


THE   CONVERT  125 

and  babies  die.  Here  and  there  we  find  a  man  who  realizes  that 
the  main  concern  of  the  State  should  be  its  children,  and  that  you 
can't  get  worthy  citizens  where  the  mothers  are  sickly  and  en 
slaved.  The  question  of  statecraft,  rightly  considered,  always 
reaches  back  to  the  mother.  That  State  is  most  prosperous  that 
most  considers  her.  No  State  that  forgets  her  can  survive.  The 
future  is  rooted  in  the  well-being  of  women.  If  you  rob  the 
women,  your  children  and  your  children's  children  pay.  Men 
haven't  realized  it  —  your  boasted  logic  has  never  yet  reached  so 
far.  Of  all  the  community,  the  women  who  give  the  next  genera 
tion  birth,  and  who  form  its  character  during  the  most  impression 
able  years  of  its  life  —  of  all  the  community,  these  mothers  now  or 
mothers  to  be  ought  to  be  set  free  from  the  monstrous  burden 
that  lies  on  the  shoulders  of  millions  of  women.  Those  of  you 
who  want  to  see  women  free,  hold  up  your  hands." 

A  strange,  orchid-like  growth  sprang  up  in  the  air.  Hands 
gloved  and  ungloved,  hands  of  many  shades  and  sizes,  hands 
grimy  and  hands  ringed. 

Something  curious  to  the  unaccustomed  eye,  these  curling, 
clutching,  digitated  members  raised  above  their  usual  range  and 
common  avocations,  suddenly  endowed  with  speech,  and  holding 
forth  there  in  the  silent  upper  air  for  the  whole  human  economy. 

'Now,  down.'  The  pallid  growth  vanished.  'Those  against 
the  freedom  of  women.'  Again  hands,  hands.  Far  too  many  to 
suit  the  promoters  of  the  meeting.  But  Miss  Claxton  announced, 
'The  ayes  are  in  the  majority.  The  meeting  is  with  us.' 

'  She  can't  even  count ! '  The  air  was  full  of  the  taunting  phrase 
—  'Can't  count!' 

'Yes,'  said  Miss  Claxton,  wheeling  round  again  upon  the  people, 
as  some  of  her  companions  began  to  get  down  out  of  the  cart. 
'Yes,  she  can  count,  and  she  can  see  when  men  don't  play  fair. 
Each  one  in  that  group  held  up  two  hands  when  the  last  vote  was 
taken.'  She  made  a  great  deal  of  this  incident,  and  elevated  it  into 
a  principle.  'It  is  entirely  characteristic  of  the  means  men  will 
stoop  to  use  in  opposing  the  Women's  Cause.' 

To  hoots  and  groans  and  laughter  the  tam-o'-shanter  dis 
appeared. 

'  Rank  Socialists  every  one  of  'em !  '  was  one  of  the  verdicts  that 
flew  about. 


126  THE   CONVERT 

'They  ought  all  to  be  locked  up.' 

'A  danger  to  the  public  peace.' 

A  man  circulating  about  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd  was  calling 
out,  '  'Andsome  souvenir.  Scented  paper  'andkerchief !  With 
full  programme  of  Great  Suffragette  Meeting  in  ' Yde  Park  ! ' 

As  the  crowd  thinned,  some  of  the  roughs  pressing  forward  were 
trying  to  'rush'  the  speakers.  The  police  hastened  to  the  rescue. 
It  looked  as  if  there  would  be  trouble.  Vida  and  her  maid  escaped 
towards  the  Marble  Arch. 

'  'Andsome  scented  'andkerchief !  Suffragette  Programme  ! ' 
The  raucous  voice  followed  them,  and  not  the  voice  alone.  Through 
the  air  was  wafted  the  cheap  and  stifling  scent  of  patchouli. 


CHAPTER  X 

JEAN  DUMBARTON  received  Mr.  Geoffrey  Stonor  upon  his  en 
trance  into  Mrs.  Freddy's  drawing-room  with  a  charming  little 
air  of  fluttered  responsibility. 

'Mrs.  Freddy  and  I  have  been  lunching  with  the  Whyteleafes. 
She  had  to  go  afterwards  to  say  good-bye  to  some  people  who  are 
leaving  for  abroad.  So  Mrs.  Freddy  asked  me  to  turn  over  my 
Girls'  Club  to  your  cousin  Sophia  — 

'Are  you  given  to  good  works,  too?'  he  interrupted.  'What  a 
terribly  philanthropic  age  it  is  1 ' 

Jean  smiled  as  she  went  on  with  her  explanation.  'Although  it 
wasn't  her  Sunday,  Sophia,  like  an  angel,  has  gone  to  the  club. 
And  I'm  here  to  explain.  Mrs.  Freddy  said  if  she  wasn't  back  on 
the  stroke  — 

'Oh,  I  dare  say  I'm  a  trifle  early.' 

It  was  a  theory  that  presented  fewer  difficulties  than  that  he 
should  be  kept  waiting. 

'I  was  to  beg  you  to  give  her  a  few  minutes'  grace  in  any  case.' 

Instead  of  finding  a  seat,  he  stood  looking  down  at  the  charming 
face.  His  indifference  to  Mrs  Freddy's  precise  programme  lent 
his  eyes  a  misleading  look  of  absent-mindedness,  which  dashed 
the  girl's  obvious  excitement  over  the  encounter. 

'I  see,'  he  had  said  slowly.  What  he  saw  was  a  graceful  crea 
ture  of  medium  height,  with  a  clear  colour  and  grey-blue  eyes  fixed 
on  him  with  an  interest  as  eager  as  it  was  frank.  What  the  grey- 
blue  eyes  saw  was  probably  some  glorified  version  of  Stonor'rS- 
straight,  firm  features,  a  little  blunt,  which  lacked  that  semblance 
of  animation  given  by  colour,  and  seemed  to  scorn  to  make  up  for 
it  by  any  mobility  of  expression.  The  grey  eyes,  set  somewhat 
too  prominently,  were  heavy  when  not  interested,  and  the  claim  to 
good  looks  which  nobody  had  dreamed  of  denying  seemed  to  rest 
mainly  upon  the  lower  part  of  his  face.  The  lips,  ever-full,  per 
haps,  were  firmly  moulded,  but  the  best  lines  were  those  curves 

127 


128  THE   CONVERT 

from  the  ear  to  the  quite  beautiful  chin.  The  gloss  on  the  straight 
light-brown  hair  may  have  stood  to  the  barber's  credit,  but  only 
health  could  keep  so  much  grace  still  in  the  carriage  of  a  figure 
heavier  than  should  be  in  a  man  of  forty  —  one  who,  without  a 
struggle,  had  declined  from  polo  unto  golf.  There  was  no  deny 
ing  that  the  old  expression  of  incipient  sullenness,  fleeting  or  sup 
pressed,  was  deepening  into  the  main  characteristic  of  his  face, 
though  it  was  held  that  he,  as  little  as  any  man,  had  cause  to  present 
that  aspect  to  a  world  content  to  be  his  oyster.  Yet,  as  no  doubt 
he  had  long  ago  learned,  it  was  that  very  expression  which  was  the 
cause  of  much  of  the  general  concern  people  seemed  to  feel  to 
placate,  to  amuse,  to  dispel  the  menace  of  that  cloud.  The  girl 
saw  it,  and  her  heart  failed  her. 

'  Mrs.  Freddy  said  if  I  told  you  the  children  were  in  the  garden 
expecting  you,  you  wouldn't  have  the  heart  to  go  away  directly.' 

'She  is  right.  I  haven't  the  heart.'  And  in  that  lifting  of  his 
cloud,  the  girl's  own  face  shone  an  instant. 

'I  should  have  felt  it  a  terrible  responsibility  if  you  were  to  go.' 
She  spoke  as  if  the  gladness  that  was  not  to  be  repressed  called  for 
some  explanation.  'Mrs.  Freddy  says  that  she  and  Mr.  Freddy 
see  so  little  of  you  nowadays.  That  was  why  she  made  such  a 
point  of  my  coming  and  trying  to  —  to  — 

'  You  needed  a  great  deal  of  urging  then  ? '  He  betrayed  the  half - 
amused,  half-ironic  surprise  of  the  man  accustomed  to  find  people 
ready  enough,  as  a  rule,  to  clutch  at  excuse  for  a  tete-a-tete.  Al 
though  she  had  flushed  with  mingled  embarrassment  and  excite 
ment,  he  proceeded  to  increase  her  perturbation  by  suggesting, 
'Mrs.  Freddy  had  to  overcome  your  dislike  for  the  mission.' 

'Dislike?     Oh,  no!' 

'What  then?' 

'  My  —  well  -  She  lifted  her  eyes,  and  dared  to  look  him 

full  in  the  face  as  she  said,  'I  suppose  you  know  you  are  rather 
alarming.' 

'Am  I?'  he  smiled. 

People  less  interested  in  him  than  Jean  were  grateful  to  Geoffrey 
Stonor  when  he  smiled.  They  felt  relieved  from  some  intangible 
responsibility  for  the  order  of  the  universe. 

The  girl  brightened  wonderfully.  'Oh,  yes,  very  alarming 
indeed,'  she  assured  him  cheerfully. 


THE   CONVERT  129 

'How  do  you  make  that  out?' 

'I  don't  need  to  "make  it  out."  It's  so  very  plain.'  Then  a 
little  hastily,  as  if  afraid  of  having  said  something  that  sounded 
like  impious  fault-finding,  '  Anybody's  alarming  who  is  so  —  so 
much  talked  about,  and  so  —  well,  like  you,  you  understand.' 

'I  don't  understand/  he  objected  mendaciously  —  'not  a  little 
bit.' 

'I  think  you  must,'  she  said,  with  her  candid  air.  'Though  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  that  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  of  you  any  more 
since  our  week-end  at  Ulland.' 

'Ah,  that's  better!' 

There  was  nothing  in  the  words,  but  in  the  gentleness  with 
which  he  brought  them  out,  so  much  that  the  girl  turned  her  eyes 
away  and  played  with  the  handle  of  her  parasol. 

'  Have  you  been  reading  any  more  poetry  ? '  he  said. 

'No.' 

'No?    Why  not?' 

She  shook  her  head.     'It  doesn't  sound  the  same/ 

'  What !    I  spoilt  it  for  you  ? ' 

She  laughed,  and  again  she  shook  her  head,  but  with  something 
shy,  half-frightened  in  her  look.  Nervously  she  dashed  at  a 
diversion. 

'I'm  afraid  I  was  a  little  misleading  about  the  children.  They 
aren't  in  the  garden  yet.  Shall  we  go  up  and  see  them  having  tea  ? ' 

'Oh,  no,  it  would  be  bad  for  their  little  digestions  to  hurry 
them.' 

He  sat  down.  Her  face  gave  him  as  much  credit  as  though  he 
had  done  some  fine  self-abnegating  deed. 

They  spoke  of  that  Sunday  walk  in  the  valley  below  the  Ulland 
links,  and  the  crossing  of  a  swollen  little  stream  on  a  rotting  and 
rickety  log. 

'I  had  to  go,'  she  explained  apologetically.  'Hermione  had 
gone  on  and  forgotten  the  puppy  hadn't  learnt  to  follow.  I  was 
afraid  he'd  lose  himself.' 

'It  was  a  dangerous  place  to  go  across,'  he  said,  as  if  to  justify 
some  past  opinion. 

Her  eyes  were  a  little  mischievous.     'I  never  thought  you'd 
come.' 
'  'Why?'  he  demanded. 


130 


THE   CONVERT 


'  Oh,  because  I  thought  you'd  be  too '  His  slow  look 

quickened  as  if  to  surprise  in  her  some  reflection  upon  his  too  solid 
flesh  —  or  might  it  even  be  upon  the  weight  of  years  ?  But  the 
uncritical  admiration  in  her  face  must  have  reassured  him  before 
the  words,  'I  thought  you'd  be  too  grand.  It  was  delightful  to 
find  you  weren't.' 

He  kept  his  eyes  on  her.     '  Are  you  always  so  happy  ? ' 

'  Oh,  I  hope  not.  That  would  be  rather  too  inhuman,  wouldn't 
it?' 

*  Too  celestial,  perhaps  ! '  He  laughed  —  but  he  was  looking 
into  the  blue  of  her  eyes  as  if  through  them  he  too  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Paradise.  'I  remember  thinking  at  Ulland,'  he  said 
more  slowly  again,  'I  had  never  seen  any  one  quite  so  happy.' 

'I  was  happy  at  Ulland.     But  I'm  not  happy  now.' 

'Then  your  looks  belie  you.' 

'No,  I  am  very  sad.  I  have  to  go  away  from  this  delightful 
London  to  Scotland.  I  shall  be  away  for  weeks.  It's  too  dismal.' 

'Why  do  you  go?' 

'My  grandfather  makes  me.  He  hates  London.  And  his 
dreary  old  house  on  a  horrible  windy  hill  —  he  simply  loves  that ! ' 

'  And  you  don't  love  it  at  all.  I  see.'  He  seemed  to  be  thinking 
out  something. 

Compunction  visited  the  face  before  him.  'I  didn't  mean  to 
say  I  didn't  love  it  at  all.  It's  like  those  people  you  care  to  be  with 
for  a  little  while,  but  if  you  must  go  being  with  them  for  ever  you 
come  to  hate  them  —  almost.' 

They  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  then  with  slow  reflectiveness,  like 
one  who  thinks  aloud,  he  said  — 

'I  have  to  go  to  Scotland  next  week.' 

'  Do  you  !     What  part  ? ' 

'I  go  to  Inverness-shire.' 

'Why,  that's  where  we  are!     Near ' 

'Why  shouldn't  I  drop  down  upon  you  some  day?' 

'Oh,  will  you?  That  would  be '  She  seemed  to  save 

herself  from  some  gulf  of  betrayal.  'There  are  walks  about  my 
grandfather's  more  beautiful  than  anything  you  ever  saw  —  or 
perhaps  I  ought  to  say  more  beautiful  than  anything  /  ever  saw.' 

'Nicer  walks  than  at  Ulland?' 

'  Oh,  no  comparison  !     One  is  a  bridle-path  all  along  a  wonder- 


THE   CONVERT  131 

ful  brown  trout  stream  that  goes  racing  down  our  hill.  There's 
a  moor  on  one  side,  and  a  wood  on  the  other,  and  a  peat  bog  at 
the  bottom.' 

'We  might  perhaps  stop  short  of  the  bog.' 

'Yes,  we'd  stop  at  old  McTaggart's.  He's  the  head-keeper  and 
a  real  friend.  McTaggart  "has  the  Gaelic."  But  he  hasn't 
much  else,  so  perhaps  you'd  prefer  his  wife.' 

'Why  should  I  prefer  his  wife?' 

Jean's  face  was  full  of  laughter.  Stonor's  plan  of  going  to 
Scotland  had  singularly  altered  the  character  of  that  country. 
Its  very  inhabitants  were  now  perceived  to  be  enlivening  even  to 
talk  about ;  to  know  —  the  gamekeeper's  wife  alone  —  would  repay 
the  journey  thither. 

'I  assure  you  Mrs.  McTaggart  is  a  travelled,  experienced  per 
son.' 

He  shook  his  head  while  he  humoured  her.  '  I'm  not  sure  travel 
or  experience  is  what  we  chiefly  prize  —  in  ladies.' 

'Oh,  isn't  it?  I  didn't  know,  you  see.  I  didn't  know  how 
dreadfully  you  might  miss  the  terribly  clever  people  you're  accus 
tomed  to  in  London.' 

'It's  because  of  the  terribly  clever  people  we  are  glad  to  go 
away.' 

He  waxed  so  eloquent  in  his  admiration  of  the  womanly  woman 
(who  seemed  by  implication  to  have  steered  clear  of  Mrs.  McTag 
gart's  pitfalls),  that  Jean  asked  with  dancing  eyes  — 

'Are  you  consoling  me  for  not  being  clever?' 

'Are  you  sure  you  aren't?' 

'Oh,  dear,  yes.     No  possible  shadow  of  doubt  about  it.' 

'Then,'  he  laughed,  '  I'm  coming  to  Inverness-shire  !  I'll  even 
go  so  far  as  to  call  on  the  McTaggarts  if  you'll  undertake  that  she 
won't  instruct  me  about  foreign  lands.' 

'  No  such  irrelevance  !  She'd  tell  you  about  London.  She  was 
here  for  six  whole  months.  And  she  got  something  out  of  it  I 
don't  believe  even  you  have.  A  Certificate  of  Merit.' 

'No.     London  certainly  never  gave  me  one.' 

'You  see!  Mrs.  McTaggart  lived  the  life  of  the  Metropolis 
with  such  success  that  she  passed  an  examination  before  she  left. 
The  subject  was :  "Incidents  in  the  Life  of  Abraham."  It  says 
so  on  the  certificate.  She  has  it  framed  and  hung  in  the  parlour.' 


132  THE   CONVERT 

He  smiled.  'I  admit  few  can  point  to  such  fruits  of  Metro 
politan  Ausbildung.  But  I  think  I  shall  prefer  the  burnside  —  or 
even  the  bog.' 

' No ;  the  moors.  They're  best  of  all.'  She  sat  looking  straight 
before  her,  with  her  heart's  deep  well  overflowing  at  her  eyes.  As 
if  she  felt  vaguely  that  some  sober  reason  must  be  found  for  seeing 
those  same  moors  in  this  glorified  light  all  of  a  sudden,  she  went 
on,  'I'll  show  you  a  special  place  where  white  heather  grows,  and 
the  rabbits  tumble  about  as  tame  as  kittens.  -  It's  miles  away  from 
the  sea,  but  the  gulls  come  sunning  themselves  and  walking  about 
like  pigeons.  I  used  to  hide  up  there  when  I  was  little  and 
naughty.  Nobody  ever  found  the  place  out  except  an  old  gaber- 
lunzie,  and  I  gave  him  tuppence  not  to  tell.' 

'Yes,  show  me  that  place.'  His  face  was  wonderfully  attractive 
so! 

'And  we'll  take  The  Earthly  —  William  Morris  —  along,  won't 
we?' 

'I  thought  you'd  given  up  reading  poetry.' 

'  Yes  —  to  myself.  I  used  to  think  I  knew  about  poetry,  yes, 
better  than  anybody  but  the  poets.  There  are  people  as  arrogant 
as  that.' 

'  Why,  it's  worse  than  Mrs.  McTaggart ! ' 

The  girl  was  grave,  even  tremulous.  'But,  no  !  I  never  had  a 
notion  of  what  poetry  really  was  till  down  at  Ulland  you  took  my 
book  away  from  me,  and  read  aloud ' 


Mr.  Freddy  let  himself  and  Lord  Borrodaile  in  at  the  front  door 
so  closely  on  the  heels  of  Mrs.  Freddy  that  the  servant  who  had 
closed  the  door  behind  her  had  not  yet  vanished  into  the  lower 
regions.  At  a  word  from  that  functionary,  Mr.  Freddy  left  his 
brother  depositing  hat  and  stick  with  the  usual  deliberation,  and 
himself  ran  upstairs  two  steps  at  a  time.  He  caught  up  with  his 
wife  just  outside  the  drawing-room  door,  as  she  paused  to  take 
off  her  veil  in  front  of  that  mirror  which  Mrs.  Freddy  said  should 
be  placed  between  the  front  door  and  the  drawing-room  in  every 
house  in  the  land  for  the  reassurance  of  the  timid  feminine  crea 
ture.  She  was  known  to  add  privately  that  it  was  not  ignored  by 
men  —  and  that  those  who  came  often,  contracted  a  habit  of  hurry- 


THE  CONVERT  133 

ing  upstairs  close  at  the  servant's  heels,  in  order  to  have  two 
seconds  to  spare  for  furtive  consultation,  while  he  went  on  to  open 
the  drawing-room  door.  She  had  observed  this  pantomime  more 
than  once,  leaning  over  the  banisters,  herself  on  the  way  downstairs. 

'They  tell  me  Stonor's  been  here  half  an  hour,'  said  Mr.  Freddy, 
breathlessly.  *  You're  dreadfully  late  1 ' 

'  No,  darling  — 

He  held  out  his  watch  to  confound  her.  '  You  tell  me  you  aren't 
late?' 

'  Sh  —  no.  I  do  so  sympathize  with  a  girl  who  has  no  mother,' 
with  which  enigmatic  rejoinder  she  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
went  briskly  through  the  double  drawing-room  to  where  Mr. 
Geoffrey  Stonor  and  Jean  Dunbarton  were  sitting  by  a  window 
that  overlooked  the  square. 

Stonor  waved  away  Mrs.  Freddy's  shower  of  excuses,  saying  — 

'You've  come  just  in  time  to  save  us  from  falling  out.  I've  been 
telling  Miss  Dunbarton  that  in  another  age  she  would  have  been 
a  sort  of  Dinah  Morris,  or  more  likely  another  St.  Ursula  with  a 
train  of  seven  thousand  virgins.' 

'  And  all  because  I've  told  him  about  my  Girls'  Club !  and  — 

'Yes,'  he  said, '  "and" '  He  turned  away  and  shook  hands 

with  his  two  kinsmen.  He  sat  talking  to  them  with  his  back  to 
the  girl. 

It  was  a  study  in  those  delicate  weights  and  measures  that  go  to 
estimating  the  least  tangible  things  in  personality,  to  note  how  his 
action  seemed  not  only  to  dim  her  vividness  but  actually  to  efface 
the  girl.  In  the  first  moments  she  herself  accepted  it  at  that.  Her 
looks  said:  He  is  not  aware  of  me  any  more  —  ergo,  I  don't  exist. 

During  the  slight  distraction  incident  to  the  bringing  in  of  tea, 
and  Mr.  Freddy's  pushing  up  some  of  the  big  chairs,  Mr.  Stonor 
had  a  moment's  remembrance  of  her.  He  spoke  of  his  Scottish 
plans  and  fell  to  considering  dates.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  she  saw 
that  again  and  yet  more  woundingly  his  attention  had  wandered. 
The  moment  came  while  Lord  Borrodaile  was  busy  Russianizing 
a  cup  of  tea,  and  Mr.  Freddy,  balancing  himself  on  very  wide- 
apart  legs  in  front  of  his  wife's  tea-table,  had  interrogated  her  — 

'  What  do  you  think,  shall  I  ring  and  say  we  aren't  at  home  ? ' 

'  Perhaps  it  would  be '  Mrs.  Freddy's  eye  flying  back  from 

Stonor  caught  her  brother-in-law's.  'Freddy' — she  arrested 


i34  THE   CONVERT 

her  husband  as  he  was  making  for  the  bell  —  'say,  " except  to  Miss 
Levering.'" 

'All  right.  Except  to  Miss  Levering.'  And  it  was  at  that  point 
that  Jean  saw  she  wasn't  being  listened  to. 

Even  Mrs.  Freddy,  looking  up,  was  conscious  of  something  in 
Stonor's  face  that  made  her  say  — 

'Old  Sir  Hervey's  youngest  daughter.  You  knew  him,  I  sup 
pose,  even  if  you  haven't  met  her.  Jean,  you  aren't  giving  Mr. 
Stonor  anything  to  eat.' 

'No,  no,  thanks.  I  don't  know  why  I  took  this.'  He  set  down 
his  tea-cup.  'I  never  have  tea.' 

'You're  like  everybody  else,'  said  the  girl,  in  a  half -petulant 
aside. 

'  Does  nobody  have  tea  ? ' 

She  lowered  her  voice  while  the  others  discussed  who  had  already 
been  sent  away,  and  who  might  still  be  expected  to  invade. 

'Nobody  remembers  anybody  else  when  that  Miss  Levering  of 
theirs  is  to  the  fore.  You  began  to  say  when  —  to  talk  about 
Scotland.' 

He  had  taken  out  his  watch.  'I  was  wondering  if  the  children 
were  down  yet.  Shall  we  go  and  see?' 

Jean  jumped  up  with  alacrity. 

'  Sh  ! '  Mrs.  Freddy  held  up  a  finger  and  silenced  her  little  circle. 
'  They  must  have  thought  I  was  ringing  for  toast  —  somebody's 
being  let  in  ! ' 

'Let's  hope  it's  Miss  Levering,'  said  Mr.  Freddy. 

'I  must  see  those  young  barbarians  of  yours  before  I  go,'  said 
Stonor,  rising  with  decision. 

The  sound  of  voices  on  the  stair  was  quite  distinct  now.  By 
the  time  the  servant  had  opened  the  door  and  announced :  '  Mrs. 
Heriot,  Miss  Heriot,  Captain  Beeching,'  Mr.  Freddy,  the  usually 
gracious  host,  was  leading  the  way  through  the  back  drawing-room, 
unblushingly  abetting  Mr.  Stonor's  escape  under  the  very  eyes  of 
persons  who  would  have  gone  miles  on  the  chance  of  meeting  him. 

Small  wonder  that  Jean  was  consoled  for  knowing  herself  too 
shy  to  follow,  if  she  remembered  that  he  had  actually  asked  her 
to  do  so !  She  showed  no  surprise  at  the  tacit  assumption  on  the 
part  of  his  relations  that  Geoffrey  Stonor  could  never  be  expected 
to  sit  there  as  common  mortals  might,  making  himself  more  or 


THE   CONVERT  135 

less  agreeable  to  whoever  might  chance  to  drop  in.  Unless  they 
were  'very  special'  of  course  he  couldn't  be  expected  to  put  up 
with  them. 

But  what  on  earth  was  happening !  No  wonder  Mrs.  Freddy 
looked  aghast.  For  Mrs.  Heriot  had  had  the  temerity  to  execute 
a  short  cut  and  waylay  the  escaping  lion.  'Oh,  how  do  you  do?' 
—  she  thrust  out  a  hand.  And  he  went  out  as  if  she  had  been  thin 
air !  It  was  the  kind  of  insolence  that  used  to  be  more  common, 
because  safer,  than  it  is  likely  to  be  in  future  —  a  form  of  condoned 
brutality  that  used  to  inspire  more  awe  than  disgust.  People  were 
guilty  even  of  a  slavish  admiration  of  those  who  had  the  nerve  to 
administer  this  wholly  disproportionate  reproof  to  the  merely  mal 
adroit.  It  could  be  done  only  by  one  whom  all  the  world  had 
conspired  to  befog  and  befool  about  his  importance  in  the  scheme 
of  things. 

Small  wonder  the  girl,  too,  was  bewildered.  For  no  one  seemed 
to  dream  of  resenting  what  had  occurred.  The  lesson  conveyed 
appeared  to  be  that  the  proper  attitude  to  certain  of  your  fellow- 
creatures  was  very  much  the  traditional  one  towards  royalty. 
You  were  not  to  speak  unless  you  wrere  spoken  to.  And  yet  this 
man  who  with  impunity  snubbed  persons  of  consideration,  was  the 
same  one  who  was  coming  to  call  on  Sally  McTaggart  —  he  was 
going  to  walk  the  bridle-path  along  the  burnside  to  the  white 
heather  haven. 

With  the  dazed  look  in  her  eyes,  and  cheeks  scarlet  with  sym 
pathy  and  confusion,  the  girl  had  run  forward  to  greet  her  aunt, 
and  to  do  her  little  share  toward  dissipating  the  awkward  chill 
that  had  fallen  on  the  company. 

After  producing  a  stammered, '  Oh  —  a  —  I  thought  it  was  — 
the  immediate  effect  on  Mrs.  Heriot  was  to  make  her  both  furious 
and  cowed.  Though  a  nervous  stream  of  talk  trickled  on,  Mrs. 
Freddy's  face  did  not  lose  its  flustered  look  nor  did  the  company 
regain  its  ease,  until  a  further  diversion  was  created  by  the  appear 
ance  of  Miss  Levering  with  an  alert,  humorous-looking  man  of 
middle-age  in  her  train. 

'Mr.  Greatorex  was  passing  just  in  time  to  help  me  out  of  my 
hansom,'  was  her  greeting  to  Mrs.  Freddy. 

'And  I,'  said  the  gentleman,  'insisted  on  being  further  rewarded 
by  being  brought  in.' 


136  THE   CONVERT 

'  That  is  Miss  Levering  ?'  whispered  Jean,  partly  to  distract  her 
aunt. 

'Yes;   why  not?'   said  Lord  Borrodaile,  overhearing. 

'Oh,  I  somehow  imagined  her  different.' 

'She  is  different,'  said  Aunt  Lydia,  with  bitter  gloom.  'You 
would  never  know  in  the  least  what  she  was  like  from  the  look  of 
her.' 

Lord  Borrodaile's  eyes  twinkled.  'Is  that  so?'  he  said,  indul 
gent  to  a  mood  which  hardly  perhaps  made  for  dispassionate 
appraisement. 

'You  don't  believe  it!'   said  Mrs.  Heriot.     'Of  course  not!' 

'I  was  only  thinking  what  a  fillip  it  gave  acquaintance  to  be  in 
doubt  whether  a  person  was  a  sinner  or  a  saint.' 

'It  wouldn't  for  me,'  said  Jean. 

'Oh,  you  see,  you're  so  Scotch.' 

He  was  incorrigible ! 

'I  didn't  hear,  who  is  the  man ?'  Jean  asked,  as  those  not  know 
ing  usually  did. 

Although  far  from  distinguished  in  appearance,  Mr.  Greatorex 
would  have  stood  in  no  danger  of  being  overlooked,  even  if  he  had 
not  those  twinkling  jewel-like  eyes,  and  two  strands  of  coal-black 
hair  trained  across  his  large  bumpy  cranium,  from  the  left  ear  to 
the  right,  and  securely  pasted  there. 

'It's  that  wretched  radical,  St.  John  Greatorex.'  Mrs.  Heriot 
turned  from  her  niece  to  Lord  Borrodaile.  'What  foundation  is 
there,'  she  demanded,  'for  the  rumour  that  he  tells  such  good  stories 
at  dinner?  /  never  heard  any.' 

'Ah,  I  believe  he  keeps  them  till  the  ladies  have  left  the  room.' 

'You  don't  like  him,  either,'  said  Mrs.  Heriot,  reaching  out  for 
the  balm  of  alliance  with  Lord  Borrodaile. 

But  he  held  aloof.  '  Oh,  they  say  he  has  his  points  —  a  good 
judge  of  wine,  and  knows  more  about  Parliamentary  procedure 
than  most  of  us.' 

'  How  you  men  stand  up  for  one  another !  You  know  perfectly 
well  you  can't  endure  him.'  Mrs.  Heriot  jerked  her  head  away 
and  faced  the  group  round  the  tea-table.  'What  is  she  saying? 
That  she's  been  to  a  Suffrage  meeting  in  Hyde  Park ! ' 

'  How  could  she  !  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  go  and  listen  to 
such  people!'  said  Miss  Dunbarton. 


THE   CONVERT  137 

Her  eyes,  as  well  as  Mrs.  Heriot's,  were  riveted  on  the  tall  figure, 
tea-cup  in  hand,  moving  away  from  the  table  now  to  make  room 
for  some  new  arrivals,  and  drawing  after  her  a  portion  of  the  com 
pany,  including  Lady  Whyteleafe  and  Richard  Farnborough,  who 
one  after  another  had  come  in  a  few  moments  before.  It  was  to 
the  young  man  that  Greatorex  was  saying,  with  a  twinkle,  'I  am 
sure  Mr.  Farnborough  agrees  with  me.' 

Slightly  self-conscious,  he  replied,  'About  Miss  Levering  being 
too  —  a  — 

'For  that  sort  of  thing  altogether  "too."' 

'How  do  you  know?'  said  the  lady  herself,  with  a  teasing  smile. 

Greatorex  started  out  of  the  chair  in  which  he  had  just  deposited 
himself  at  her  side.  '  God  bless  my  soul ! '  he  said. 

'She's  only  saying  that  to  get  a  rise  out  of  you.'  Farnborough 
seemed  unable  to  bear  the  momentary  shadow  obscuring  the 
lady's  brightness. 

'Ah,  yes'  —  Greatorex  leaned  back  again  —  'your  frocks  aren't 
serious  enough.' 

'Haven't  I  been  telling  you  it's  an  exploded  notion  that  the  Suf 
frage  people  are  all  dowdy  and  dull?' 

'  Pooh  ! '  said  Mr.  Greatorex. 

'You  talk  about  some  of  them  being  pretty,'  Farnborough  said. 
'/  didn't  see  a  good-looking  one  among  'em.' 

'Ah,  you  men  are  so  unsophisticated;  you  missed  the  fine 
feathers.' 

'Plenty  o'  feathers  on  the  one  I  heard.' 

'Yes,  but  not  fine  feathers.  A  man  judges  of  the  general 
effect.  We  can,  at  a  pinch,  see  past  unbecoming  clothes,  can't  we, 
Lady  Whyteleafe  ?  We  see  what  women  could  make  of  themselves 
if  they  took  the  trouble.' 

'All  the  same,'  said  the  lady  appealed  to,  'it's  odd  they  don't 
see  how  much  better  policy  it  would  be  if  they  did  take  a  little 
trouble  about  their  looks.  Now,  if  we  got  our  maids  to  do  those 
women's  hair  for  them  —  if  we  lent  them  our  French  hats  —  ah, 
then'  —  Lady  Whyteleafe  nodded  till  the  pear-shaped  pearls  in 
her  ears  swung  out  like  milk-white  bells  ringing  an  alarum  — 
'they'd  convert  you  creatures  fast  enough  then.' 

'Perhaps  "convert"  is  hardly  the  word,'  said  Vida,  with  ironic 
mouth.  As  though  on  an  impulse,  she  bent  forward  to  say,  with 


138  THE   CONVERT 

her  lips  near  Lady  Whyteleafe's  pearl  drop:  'What  if  it's  the  aim 
of  the  movement  to  get  away  from  the  need  of  just  these  little 
dodges?' 

'Dodges?' 

But  without  the  exclamation,  Miss  Levering  must  have  seen  that 
she  had  been  speaking  in  an  unknown  tongue.  A  world  where 
beauty  exists  for  beauty's  sake  —  which  is  love's  sake  —  and  not 
for  tricking  money  or  power  out  of  men,  even  the  possibility  of 
such  a  world  is  beyond  the  imagining  of  many. 

Something  was  said  about  a  deputation  of  women  who  had 
waited  on  Mr.  Greatorex. 

'Hm,  yes,  yes.'     He  fiddled  with  his  watch  chain. 

As  though  she  had  just  recalled  the  circumstances,  'Oh,  yes,' 
Vida  said,  'I  remember  I  thought  at  the  time,  in  my  modest  way, 
it  was  nothing  short  of  heroic  of  them  to  go  asking  audience  of  their 
arch  opponent.' 

'It  didn't  come  off!'     He  wagged  his  strange  head. 

'Oh,'  she  said  innocently,  'I  thought  they  insisted  on  bearding  the 
lion  in  his  den.' 

'  Of  course  I  wasn't  going  to  be  bothered  with  a  lot  of  — 

'  You  don't  mean  you  refused  to  go  out  and  face  them  ! ' 

He  put  on  a  comic  look  of  terror.  'I  wouldn't  have  done  it  for 
worlds  !  But  a  friend  of  mine  went  and  had  a  look  at  'em.' 

'Well,'  she  laughed,  'did  he  get  back  alive?' 

'Yes,  but  he  advised  me  not  to  go.  "You're  quite  right," 
he  said.  " Don't  you  think  of  bothering,"  he  said.  "I've  looked 
over  the  lot,"  he  said,  "and  there  isn't  a  week-ender  among  'em.'" 

Upon  the  general  laugh  that  drew  Hermione  and  Captain  Beech- 
ing  into  the  group,  Jean  precipitated  herself  gaily  into  the  conver 
sation.  'Have  they  told  you  about  Mrs.  Freddy's  friend  who  came 
to  tea  here  in  the  winter?'  she  asked  Hermione.  'He  was  a 
member  of  Parliament,  too  —  quite  a  little  young  one  —  he  said 
women  would  never  be  respected  till  they  had  the  vote ! ' 

Mr.  Greatorex  snorted,  the  other  men  smiled,  and  all  the 
women,  except  Aunt  Lydia,  did  the  same. 

'I  remember  telling  him,'  Mrs.  Heriot  said,  with  marked  severity, 
'that  he  was  too  young  to  know  what  he  was  talking  about.' 

'Yes,  I'm  afraid  you  all  sat  on  the  poor  gentleman,'  said  Lord 
Borrodaile. 


THE  CONVERT  139 

'  It  was  such  fun.  He  was  flat  as  a  pancake  when  we'd  done  with 
him.  Aunt  Ellen  was  here.  She  told  him  with  her  most  distin 
guished  air  she  didn't  want  to  be  respected.' 

'Dear  Lady  John!'  murmured  Miss  Levering.  'I  can  hear 
her!' 

'Quite  right,'  said  Captain  Beeching.  'Awful  idea  to  think 
you're  respected.' 

'Simply  revolting,'  agreed  Miss  Heriot. 

'Poor  little  man!'  laughed  Jean,  'and  he  thought  he  was  being 
so  agreeable ! ' 

'Instead  of  which  it  was  you.' 

Miss  Levering  said  the  curious  words  quite  pleasantly,  but  so 
low  that  only  Jean  heard  them. 

The  girl  looked  up.     '  Me  ? ' 

'You  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  you  had  made  yourself 
immensely  popular  with  all  other  men.' 

The  girl  flushed.  'I  hope  you  don't  think  I  did  it  for  that 
reason.' 

The  little  passage  was  unnoticed  by  the  rest  of  the  company, 
who  were  listening  to  Lord  Borrodaile's  contented  pronouncement : 
'I'm  afraid  the  new-fangled  seed  falls  on  barren  ground  in  our  old- 
fashioned  gardens  —  pace  my  charming  sister-in-law.' 

Greatorex  turned  sharply.  'Mrs.  Tunbridge !  God  bless  my 
soul,  you  don't  mean  — 

'There  is  one  thing  I  will  say  for  her'  —  Mrs.  Freddy's  brother- 
in-law  lazily  defended  the  honour  of  the  house  —  'she  doesn't, 
as  a  rule,  obtrude  her  opinions.  There  are  people  who  have  known 
her  for  years,  and  haven't  a  notion  she's  a  light  among  the  mis 
guided.' 

But  Greatorex  was  not  to  be  reassured.  'Mrs.  Tunbridge! 
Lord,  the  perils  that  beset  the  feet  of  man ! '  He  got  up  with  a 
half-comic  ill  humour. 

'You're  not  going!'  The  hostess  flitted  over  to  remonstrate. 
'I  haven't  had  a  word  with  you.' 

'Yes,  yes;  I'm  going.' 

Mrs.  Freddy  looked  bewildered  at  the  general  laugh. 

'He's  heard  aspersions  cast  upon  your  character,'  said  Lord 
Borrodaile.  'His  moral  sense  is  shocked.' 

'  Honestly,  Mrs.  Tunbridge '  —  Farnborough  was  for  giving  her 


140  THE   CONVERT 

a  chance  to  clear  herself  —  *  what  do  you  think  of  your  friends' 
recent  exploits?' 

'My  friends?' 

'Yes;  the  disorderly  women.' 

'They  are  not  my  friends,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy,  with  dignity, 
'but  I  don't  think  you  must  call  them ' 

'Why  not?'  said  Lord  Borrodaile.  '/  can  forgive  them  for 
worrying  the  Liberals '  —  he  threw  a  laughing  glance  at  Greatorex 
—  'but  they  are  disorderly.' 

'Isn't  the  phrase  consecrated  to  a  different  class?'  said  Miss 
Levering,  quietly. 

'You're  perfectly  right.'  Greatorex,  for  once,  was  at  one  with 
Lord  Borrodaile.  'They've  become  nothing  less  than  a  public 
nuisance.  Going  about  with  dog-whips  and  spitting  in  police 
men's  faces.' 

'I  wonder,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy,  with  a  harassed  air —  'I  wonder 
if  they  did  spit ! ' 

'Of  course  they  did!'    Greatorex  exulted. 

'You're  no  authority  on  what  they  do,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy. 
'You  run  away.' 

'Run  away?'  He  turned  the  laugh  by  precipitately  backing 
away  from  her  in  a  couple  of  agitated  steps.  'Yes,  and  if  ever  I 
muster  up  courage  to  come  back,  it  will  be  to  vote  for  better  man 
ners  in  public  life,  not  worse  than  we  have  already.' 

'So  should  I,'  observed  Mrs.  Freddy,  meekly.  'Don't  think  I 
defended  the  Suffragettes.' 

'But  still,'  said  Miss  Levering,  with  a  faint  accent  of  impatience, 
'you  are  an  advocate  for  the  Suffrage,  aren't  you  ?' 

'I  don't  beat  the  air.' 

'Only  policemen,'  Greatorex  mocked. 

'  If  you  cared  to  know  the  attitude  of  the  real  workers  in  the 
Reform,'  Mrs.  Freddy  said  plaintively,  'you  might  have  seen  in  any 
paper  that  we  lost  no  time  in  dissociating  ourselves  from  the  two 

or  three  hysterical '  She  caught  her  brother-in-law's  critical 

eye,  and  instantly  checked  her  flow  of  words. 

There  was  a  general  movement  as  Greatorex  made  his  good 
byes.  Mrs.  Heriot  signalled  her  daughter. 

In  the  absence  of  the  master,  Lord  Borrodaile  made  ready  to  do 
the  honours  of  the  house  to  a  lady  who  had  had  so  little  profit  of 


THE  CONVERT  141 

her  visit.  Beeching  carried  off  the  reluctant  Farnborough.  Mrs. 
Freddy  kept  up  her  spirits  until  after  the  exodus;  then,  with  a  sigh, 
she  sat  down  beside  Vida.  'It's  true  what  that  old  cynic  says,' 
she  admitted  sorrowfully.  '  The  scene  has  put  back  the  Reform 
a  generation.' 

'It  must  have  been  awfully  exciting.  I  wish  I'd  been  there,' 
said  Jean. 

'I  was  there.' 

'Oh,  was  it  as  bad  as  the  papers  said?7 

*  Worse.  I've  never  been  so  moved  in  public  —  no  tragedy, 
no  great  opera  ever  gripped  an  audience  as  the  situation  in  the 
House  did  that  night.  There  we  all  sat  breathless  —  with  every 
thing  more  favourable  to  us  than  it  had  been  within  the  memory  of 
woman.  Another  five  minutes  and  the  resolution  would  have 
passed.  Then  —  all  in  a  moment'  — Mrs.  Freddy  clasped  her 
hands  excitedly  —  'all  in  a  moment  a  horrible,  dingy  little  flag 
was  poked  through  the  grille  of  the  Woman's  Gallery  —  cries  — 
insults  —  scuffling  —  the  police  —  the  ignominious  turning  out 
of  the  women  —  us  as  well  as  the  —  Oh,  I  can't  think  of  it 

without '  She  jumped  up  and  walked  to  and  fro.  *  Then  the 

next  morning !'  She  paused.  '  The  people  gloating.  Our  friends 
antagonized  —  people  who  were  wavering  —  nearly  won  over  — 
all  thrown  back  !  Heart-breaking!  Even  my  husband !  Freddy's 
been  an  angel  about  letting  me  take  my  share  when  I  felt  I  must 
—  but,  of  course,  I've  always  known  he  doesn't  like  it.  It  makes 
him  shy.  I'm  sure  it  gives  him  a  horrid  twist  inside  when  he  sees 
even  the  discreetest  little  paragraph  to  say  that  I  am  "one  of  the 
speakers."  But  he's  always  been  an  angel  about  it  before  this. 
After  the  disgraceful  scene,  he  said,  "It  just  shows  how  unfit 
women  are  for  any  sort  of  coherent  thinking  or  concerted 
action.'" 

'To  think,'  said  Jean,  more  sympathetically,  'that  it  should  be 
women  who've  given  their  own  scheme  the  worst  blow  it  ever  had  ! ' 

'  The  work  of  forty  years  destroyed  in  five  minutes ! ; 

'They  must  have  felt  pretty  sick,'  said  the  girl,  'when  they 
waked  up  the  next  morning  —  those  Suffragettes.' 

'  I  don't  waste  any  sympathy  on  them.  I'm  thinking  of  the  pen 
alty  all  women  have  to  pay  because  two  or  three  hysterical ' 

'Still,  I  think  I'm  sorry  for  them,'  the  girl  persisted.     'It  must 


i42  THE   CONVERT 

be  dreadful  to  find  you've  done  such  a  lot  of  harm  to  the  thing 
you  care  most  about  in  the  world.' 

'Do  you  picture  the  Suffragettes  sitting  in  sack-cloth?'  said 
Vida,  speaking  at  last. 

'Well,  they  can't  help  realizing  now  what  they've  done.' 

'Isn't  it  just  possible  they  realize  they've  waked  up  interest  in 
the  Woman  Question  so  that  it's  advertised  in  every  paper,  and  dis 
cussed  under  every  roof,  from  Land's  End  to  John-o'-Groats? 
Don't  you  think  they  know  there's  been  more  said  and  written 
about  it  in  these  days  since  the  scene  than  in  the  ten  years 
before  it ! ' 

'You  aren't  saying  you  think  it  was  a  good  way  to  get  what  they 
wanted!'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Freddy. 

'  I'm  only  pointing  out  that  it  seems  not  such  a  bad  way  to  get 
it  known  they  do  want  something,  and —  "want  it  bad,"*  Vida 
added,  smiling. 

Jean  drew  her  low  chair  almost  in  front  of  the  lady  who  had  so 
wounded  her  sensibilities  a  little  while  before  with  that  charge  of 
popularity-hunting. 

'Mrs.  Tunbridge  says  before  that  horrid  scene  everything  was 
favourable  at  last,'  the  girl  hazarded. 

'Yes,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy,  'we  never  had  so  many  friends  in  the 
House  before ' 

'  "Friends,"  '   echoed  the  other  woman,  with  a  faint  smile. 

'Why  do  you  say  it  like  that?' 

'Because  I  was  thinking  of  a  funny  story —  (he  said  it  was 
funny)  —  a  Liberal  Whip  told  me  the  other  day.  A  Radical 
member  went  out  of  the  House  after  his  speech  in  favour  of  the 
Women's  Bill,  and  as  he  came  back  half  an  hour  later  he  heard 
some  members  talking  in  the  lobby  about  the  astonishing  number 
who  were  going  to  vote  for  the  measure.  And  the  Friend  of 
Woman  dropped  his  jaw  and  clutched  the  man  next  him.  "My 
God !  "  he  said,  "you  don't  mean  they're  going  to  giveit  to  them  !'; ; 

'Sh!  Here  is  Ronald.'  Mrs.  Freddy's  tact  brought  her  smil 
ing  to  her  feet  as  the  figure  of  her  brother-in-law  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  But  she  turned  her  back  on  him  and  affected  absorp 
tion  in  the  tableau  presented  by  Jean  leaning  forward,  elbow  on 
knee,  chin  in  hand,  gazing  steadily  in  Vida  Levering's  face. 

'I  don't  want  to  interrupt  you  two,'  said  the  hostess,  'but  I 
think  you  must  look  at  the  pictures.' 


THE   CONVERT  143 

'Oh,  yes,  I  brought  them  specially' -- Lord  Borrodaile  de 
flected  his  course  in  order  to  take  up  from  the  table  two  squares  of 
cardboard  tied  face  to  face  with  tape. 

'Bless  the  man !'  Mrs.  Freddy  contemplated  him  with  smiling 
affectation  of  scorn.  'I  mean  the  new  photographs  of  the  chil 
dren.  He's  thinking  of  some  reproductions  Herbert  Tunbridge 
got  while  he  was  abroad  —  pictures  of  things  somebody's  unearthed 
in  Sicily  or  Cyprus.' 

'Crete,  my  dear.'  He  turned  his  back  on  the  fond  mother 
and  Jean  who  was  already  oh-ing  with  appreciation  at  the  first  of 
a  pile  of  little  Saras  and  Cecils.  When  he  came  back  to  his  corner 
of  the  sofa  he  made  no  motion  to  undo  his  packet,  but '  Now  then  ! ' 
he  said,  as  he  often  did  on  sitting  down  beside  Vida  Levering  — 
as  though  they  had  been  interrupted  on  the  verge  of  coming  to  an 
agreement  about  something. 

She,  with  an  instinct  of  returning  the  ball,  usually  tossed  at  him 
some  scrap  of  news  or  a  jest,  or  some  small  social  judgment. 
This  time  when  he  uttered  his  'Now  then,'  with  that  anticipatory 
air,  she  answered  instantly  —  '  Yes ;  something  rather  odd  has 
been  happening.  I've  been  seeing  beyond  my  usual  range.' 

'  Really ! '  He  smiled  at  her  with  a  mixture  of  patronage  and 
affection.  'And  did  you  find  there  was  "something  new  under 
the  sun"  after  all?' 

'Well,  perhaps  not  so  new,  though  it  seemed  new  to  me.  But 
something  differently  looked  at.  Why  do  we  pretend  that  all 
conversion  is  to  some  religious  dogma  —  why  not  to  a  view  of  life  ? ' 

'Bless  my  soul !      I  begin  to  feel  nervous.' 

'  Do  you  remember  once  telling  me  that  I  had  a  thing  that  was 
rare  in  my  sex  —  a  sense  of  humour  ? ' 

'  I  remember  often  thinking  it,'  he  said  handsomely. 

'It  wasn't  the  first  time  I'd  heard  that.  And  it  was  one  of  the 
compliments  I  liked  best.' 

'We  all  do.  It  means  we  have  a  sense  of  proportion  —  the 
mental  suppleness  that  is  capable  of  the  ironic  view ;  an  eye  that 
can  look  right  as  well  as  left.' 

She  nodded.  'When  you  wrote  to  me  once,  "My  dear  Ironist," 
I  —  yes  —  I  felt  rather  superior.  I'm  conscious  now  that  it's 
been  a  piece  of  hidden,  intellectual  pride  with  me  that  I  could  smile 
at  most  things.' 


J44  THE   CONVERT 

'Well,  do  you  mean  to  forswear  pride?  For  you  can't  live 
without  smiling.' 

'I've  seen  something  to-day  that  I  don't  feel  I  want  to  smile  at. 
And  yet  to  you  it's  the  niost  ludicrous  spectacle  in  London.' 

'This  is  all  very  mysterious.'  He  turned  his  long,  whimsical 
face  on  one  side  as  he  settled  himself  more  comfortably  against  the 
cushion. 

'  You  heard  why  I  was  late  ? '  she  said. 

'  I  took  the  liberty  of  doubting  the  reason  you  gave ! ' 

'You  mustn't.     It  wasn't  even  my  first  offence.' 

'You  must  find  time  hang  very  heavy  on  your  hands.' 

'On  the  contrary.  I've  never  known  the  time  to  go  so  fast. 
Oh,  heaps  of  people  would  do  what  I  have,  if  they  only  knew  how 
queer  and  interesting  it  is,  and  how  already  the  outer  aspect  of  the 
thing  is  changing.  At  the  first  meetings  very  few  women  of  any 
class.  Now  there  are  dozens  —  scores.  Soon  there'll  be  hun 
dreds.  There  were  three  thousand  people  in  the  park  this  after 
noon,  so  a  policeman  told  me,  but  hardly  any  of  the  class  that  what 
Dick  Farnborough  calls  "runs  England."  ; 

'I  suppose  not.' 

'You  don't  even  know  yet  you'll  have  to  deal  with  all  that 
passionate  feeling,  all  that  fixed  determination  to  bring  about  a 
vast,  far-reaching  change  !  —  a  change  so  great ' 

'That  it  would  knock  civilized  society  into  a  cocked  hat.' 

'I  wonder.' 

'You  wonder?' 

'I  wonder  if  you  oughtn't  to  be  reassured  by  the  —  bigness  of  the 
thing.  It  isn't  only  these  women  in  Hyde  Park.  They  have 
a  Feministe  Movement  in  France.  They  say  there's  a  Frauen- 
bewegung  in  Germany.  From  Finland  to  Italy ' 

'  Oh,  yes,  strikes  and  uprisings.     It's  an  uneasy  Age.' 

'People  in  India  wanting  a  greater  share  in  the  government ' 

'Mad  as  the  Persians '  he  smiled  —  'fancy  Persians  clam 
ouring  for  a  representative  chamber!  It's  a  sort  of  epidemic.' 

'  The  Egyptians,  too,  restless  under ' '  benefits."  And  now  every 
where,  as  if  by  some  great  concerted  movement  —  the  Women  ! ' 

'  Yes,  yes ;  there's  plenty  of  regrettable  restlessness  up  and  down 
the  world,  a  sort  of  wave  of  revolt  against  the  constituted  authorities. 
If  it  goes  too  far  —  nothing  for  us  but  a  military  despotism  ! ' 


THE   CONVERT  145 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  look  of  such  serene  conviction  that 
he  persisted, '  I'd  be  sorry  if  we  came  to  it  —  but  if  this  spirit  grows, 
this  rebellion  against  all  forms  of  control  - 

'No,  no,  against  other  people's  control.  Suppose  it  ends  in 
people  learning  self-control.' 

'That's  the  last  thing  the  masses  can  do.  There  are  few,  even 
of  the  elite,  who  have  ever  done  it,  and  they  belong  to  the  Moral 
Aristocracy  —  the  smallest  and  most  rigid  in  the  world.  This 
thing  that  you're  just  opening  your  eyes  to,  is  the  rage  against  re 
straint  that  goes  with  decadence.  But  the  phlegmatic  English 
man  won't  lead  in  that  degringolade.' 

'  You  mean  we  won't  be  among  the  first  of  the  great  nations  to  give 
women  the  Suffrage?' 

'England?'  The  slow  head-shake  and  the  smile  airily  rele 
gated  the  Woman's  Movement  to  the  limbo  of  the  infinitely  distant. 

'Just  because  the  men  won't  have  it?'  and  for  the  second  time 
she  said,  'I  wonder.  For  myself,  I  rather  think  the  women  are 
going  to  win.' 

'Not  in  my  time.     Not  even  in  yours.' 

'Why?' 

'Oh,  the  men  will  never  let  it  come  to  the  point.* 

'  It's  interesting  to  hear  you  say  that.  You  justify  the  militant 
women,  you  know.' 

'  That  is  perhaps  not  to  hit  the  bull's  eye ! '  he  said,  a  little 
grimly.  Then  dropping  his  unaccustomed  air  of  chill  disapproval, 
he  appealed  to  his  friend's  better  taste.  A  confession  of  sheer 
physical  loathing  crep^into  his  face  as  he  let  fall  two  or  three  little 
sentences  about  these^  women's  offence  against  public  decorum. 
'Why,  it  is  as  hideous  as  war !'  he  wound  up,  dismissing  it. 

'  Perhaps  it  is  war.'  Her  phrase  drew  the  cloud  of  menace  down 
again;  it  closed  about  them.  It  seemed  to  trouble  her  that  he 

would  not  meet  her  gaze.  'Don't  think '  she  prayed,  and 

stumbling  against  the  new  hardness  in  his  face,  broke  off,  withdrew 
her  eyes  and  changed  the  form  of  what  she  had  meant  to  say. 
'I  think  I  like  good  manners,  too,  but  I  see  it  would  be  a  mistake  to 
put  them  first.  What  if  we  have  to  earn  the  right  to  be  gentle  and 
gracious  without  shame  ? ' 

'  You  seriously  defend  these  people  ! ' 

'I'm  not  sure  they  haven't  taken  the  only  way.'  She  looked  at 
L 


146  THE   CONVERT 

her  friend  with  a  fresh  appeal  in  her  eyes.  But  his  were  wearing 
their  new  cold  look.  She  seemed  to  nerve  herself  to  meet  some 
numbing  danger  of  cowardice.  'The  old  rule  used  to  be  patience 
—  with  no  matter  what  wrong.  The  new  feeling  is :  shame  on 
any  one  who  weakly  suffers  wrong !  Isn't  it  too  cheap  an  idea  of 
morals  that  women  should  take  credit  for  the  enduring  that  keeps 
the  wrong  alive  ?  You  won't  say  women  have  no  stake  in  morals. 
Have  we  any  right  to  let  the  world  go  wrong  while  we  get  compli 
ments  for  our  forbearance  and  for  pretty  manners  ? ' 

'You  began,'  said  Borrodaile,  'by  explaining  other  women's 
notions.  You  have  ended  by  seeming  to  adopt  them  as  your  own. 
But  you  are  a  person  of  some  intelligence.  You  will  open  your 
eyes  before  you  go  too  far.  You  belong  to  the  people  who  are 
responsible  for  handing  on  the  world's  treasure.  As  we've  agreed, 
there  never  was  a  time  when  it  was  attacked  from  so  many  sides. 
Can't  you  see  what's  at  stake?7 

'  I  see  that  many  of  the  pleasantest  things  may  be  in  eclipse  for 
a  time.' 

'My  dear,  they  would  die  off  the  face  of  the  earth.' 

'No,  they  are  too  necessary.' 

'To  you  and  me.  Not  to  the  brawlers  in  Hyde  Park.  The  life 
of  civilized  beings  is  a  very  complex  thing.  It  isn't  filled  by  good 
intentions  nor  even  by  the  cardinal  virtues.  The  function  of  the 
older  societies  is  to  hand  on  the  best  things  the  world  has  won, 
so  that  those  who  come  after,  instead  of  having  to  go  back  to  bar 
barism,  may  start  from  wrhere  the  best  of  their  day  left  off.  We 
do  for  manners  and  the  arts  in  general  what  the  Moors  did  for 
learning  when  the  wild  hordes  came  down.  There  were  capital 
chaps  among  the  barbarians,'  he  smiled,  'I  haven't  a  doubt !  But 
it  was  the  men  who  held  fast  to  civilization's  clue,  they  were  the 
people  who  mattered.  We  matter.  We  hold  the  clue.'  He  was 
recovering  his  spirits.  'Your  friends  want  to  open  the  gates  still 
wider  to  the  Huns.  You  want  even  the  Moors  overwhelmed.' 

'Many  women  are  as  jealous  to  guard  the  old  gains  as  the 
men  are.  Wait !'  She  leaned  forward.  'I  begin  to  see  !  They 
are  more  keen  about  it  than  the  mass  of  men.  The  women ! 
They  are  civilization's  only  ally  against  your  brother,  the 
Goth.' 
He  laughed.  'When  you  are  as  absurd  as  that,  my  dear,  I 


THE   CONVERT  147 

don't  mind.     No,  not  a  little  bit.     And  I  really  believe  I'm  too 
fond  of  you  to  quarrel  on  any  ground.' 

'You  don't  care  enough  about  anything  to  quarrel  about  it/ 
she  said,  smiling,  too.  'But  it's  just  as  well'  —  she  rose  and  began 
to  draw  on  her  glove  —  *  just  as  well  that  each  of  us  should  know 
where  to  find  the  other.  So  tell  me,  what  if  it  should  be  a  question 
of  going  forward  in  the  suffrage  direction  or  going  back  ? ' 

'  You  mean 

' on  from  latchkeys  and  University  degrees  to  Parliament, 

or  back.' 

'Oh,  back,'  he  said  hastily.     'Back.     Yes,  back  to  the  harem.' 

When  the  words  were  out,  Lord  Borrodaile  had  laughed  a  little 
uneasily  —  like  one  who  has  surprised  even  himself  by  some  too- 
illuminating  avowal.  'See  here,'  he  put  out  a  hand.  'I'm  not 
going  to  let  you  go  for  a  minute  or  two.  I've  brought  something 
to  show  you.  This  foolish  discussion  put  it  out  of  my  head.' 
But  the  revealing  word  he  had  flung  out  —  it  seemed  to  have  struck 
wide  some  window  that  had  been  shuttered  close  before.  The 
woman  stood  there  in  the  glare.  She  did  not  refuse  to  be  drawn 
back  to  her  place  on  the  sofa,  but  she  looked  round  first  to  see  if 
the  others  had  heard  and  how  they  took  it.  A  glimpse  of  Mrs. 
Freddy's  gown  showed  her  out  of  earshot  on  the  balcony. 

'I've  got  something  here  really  rather  wonderful,'  Lord  Borro 
daile  went  on,  with  that  infrequent  kindling  of  enthusiasm.  He 
had  taken  one  of  the  unmounted  photographs  from  between  its 
two  bits  of  cardboard  and  was  holding  it  up  before  his  eyeglass. 
'Yes,  he's  an  extraordinary  beggar  !'  —  which  remark  in  the  ears 
of  those  who  knew  his  lordship,  advertized  his  admiration  of  either 
some  man  of  genius  or  '  Uebermensch '  of  sorts.  Before  he  shared 
the  picture  with  his  companion  he  told  her  of  what  was  not  then  so 
widely  known — details  of  that  most  thrilling  moment  perhaps  in 
all  the  romance  of  archaeology — where  the  excavators  of  Knossos 
came  upon  the  first  authentic  picture  of  a  man  belonging  to  that 
mysterious  and  forgotten  race  that  had  raised  up  a  civilization  in 
some  things  rivalling  the  Greek  —  a  race  that  had  watched  Minoan 
power  wane  and  die,  and  all  but  the  dimmest  legend  of  it  vanish, 
before  the  builders  of  Argos  and  Mycenae  began  laying  their  foun 
dation  stones.  Borrodaile,  with  an  accent  that  for  him  was  almost 
emotion,  emphasized  the  strangeness  to  the  scholar  of  having  to 


148  THE  CONVERT 

abandon  the  old  idea  of  the  Greek  being  the  sole  flower  of  Medi 
terranean  civilization.  For  here  was  this  wonderful  island  folk  — 
a  people  standing  between  and  bridging  East  and  West  —  these 
Cretan  men  and  women  who,  though  they  show  us  their  faces, 
their  delicate  art  and  their  stupendous  palaces,  have  held  no  parley 
with  the  sons  of  men,  some  say  for  three  and  thirty  centuries. 
'But  wait!  They'll  tell  us  tales  before  those  fellows  have  done! 
I  wouldn't  mind  hearing  what  this  beggar  ha,s  to  say  for  himself ! ' 
At  last  he  shared  the  picture.  They  agreed  that  he  was  a  beggar 
to  be  reckoned  with  —  this  proud  athlete  coming  back  to  the  world 
of  men  after  his  long  sleep,  not  blinded  by  the  new  day,  not  primi 
tive,  apologetic,  but  meeting  us  with  a  high  imperial  mien,  daring 
and  beautiful. 

'  What  do  you  suppose  he  is  carrying  in  that  vase  ? '  Vida  asked ; 
'  or  is  that  some  trophy  ? ' 

'No,  no,  it's  the  long  drinking  cup  —  to  the  expert  eye  that  is 
added  evidence  of  his  high  degree  of  civilization.  But  think,  you 
know,  a  man  like  that  walking  the  earth  so  long  before  the  Greeks  ! 
And  here.  This  courtly  train  looking  on  at  the  games.  What  do 
you  say  to  the  women ! ' 

'Why,  they  had  got  as  far  as  flouncing  their  gowns  and  puffing 
their  sleeves!  Their  hair!'  —  'Dear  me,  they  must  have  had  a 
M.  Raoul  to  ondule  and  dress  it.'  'Amazing !  —  was  there  ever 
anything  so  modern  dug  out  of  the  earth  before?'  'No,  nothing 
like  it ! '  he  said,  holding  the  pictures  up  again  between  the  glass 
and  his  kindling  eye.  '  Ce  sont  vraiment  des  Parisiennes ! ' 

Over  his  shoulder  the  modern  woman  looked  long  at  that 
strange  company.  'It  is  nothing  less  than  uncanny,'  she  said 
at  last.  'It  makes  one  vaguely  wretched.' 

'What  does?' 

'To  realize  that  so  long  ago  the  world  had  got  so  far.  Why 
couldn't  people  like  these  go  further  still  ?  Why  didn't  their  sons 
hold  fast  what  so  great  a  race  had  won?' 

'These  things  go  in  cycles.' 

'Isn't  that  a  phrase?'  —  the  woman  mused  —  'to  cover  our 
ignorance  of  how  things  go  —  and  why  ?  Why  should  we  be  so 
content  to  go  the  old  way  to  destruction  ?  If  I  were  "the  English  " 
of  this  splendid  specimen  of  a  Cretan,  I  would  at  least  find  a  new 
way  to  perdition.' 


THE   CONVERT  149 

'Perhaps  we  shall!' 

They  sat  trying  from  the  accounts  of  Lord  Borrodaile's  ar 
chaeological  friends  to  reconstruct  something  of  that  vanished 
world.  It  was  a  game  they  had  played  at  before,  with  Etruscan 
vases  and  ivories  from  Ephesus  —  the  man  bringing  to  it  his 
learning  and  his  wit,  the  woman  her  supple  imagination  and  a  pas 
sion  of  interest  in  the  great  romance  of  the  Pilgrimage  of 
Man. 

But  to-day  she  bore  a  less  light-hearted  part  —  '  It  all  came 
to  an  end ! '  she  repeated. 

'Well,  so  shall  we.' 

'But  —  we  —  you  will  leave  your  like  behind  to  "hold  fast  to 
the  clue,"  as  you  said  a  little  while  ago.' 

'Till  the  turn  of  the  wheel  carries  the  English  down.  Then 
somewhere  else  on  our  uneasy  earth  men  will  begin  again  — 

' the  fruitless   round!     But   it's   horrible  —  the  waste  of 

effort  in  the  world !  It's  worse  than  horrible.  It's  insane.' 
She  looked  up  suddenly  into  his  face.  '  You  are  wise.  Tell  me 
what  you  think  the  story  of  the  world  means,  with  its  successive 
clutches  at  civilization  —  all  those  histories  of  slow  and  painful 
building  —  by  Ganges  and  by  Nile  and  in  the  Isles  of  Greece.' 

'  It's  a  part  of  the  universal  rhythm  that  all  things  move  to  — 
Nature's  way,'  he  answered. 

'Or  was  it  because  of  some  offence  against  one  of  her  high 
laws  that  she  wiped  the  old  experiments  out  ?  What  if  the  mean 
ing  of  history  is  that  an  Empire  maintained  by  brute  force  shall 
perish  by  brute  force!' 

'Ah,'  he  fixed  her  with  those  eyes  of  his.  'I  see  where  you 
are  going.' 

'You  can't  either  of  you  go  anywhere,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy, 
appearing  through  the  balcony  window,  'till  you've  seen  the 
children's  pictures.'  Vida's  eye  had  once  more  fallen  on  the 
reproduction  of  one  of  the  Cretan  frescoes  with  a  sudden  inten 
sification  of  interest. 

'What  is  it?'  Borrodaile  asked,  looking  over  her  shoulder. 

Woman-like  she  offered  the  man  the  outermost  fringe  of  her 
thought.  'Even  Lady  Whyteleafe,'  she  said,  'would  be  satisfied 
with  the  attention  they  paid  to  their  hair.' 

'Come,  you  two.'     Mrs.  Freddy  was  at  last  impatient.     '  Jean's 


150  THE   CONVERT 

got  the  really  beautiful  pictures,  showing  them  to  Geoffrey.  Let 
us  all  go  down  to  help  him  to  decide  which  is  the  best.' 

'Geoffrey?' 

'  Geoffrey  Stonor  —  you  know  him,  of  course.  But  nobody 
knows  the  very  nicest  side  of  Geoffrey,  do  they?'  she  appealed 
to  Borrodaile,  —  '  nobody  who  hasn't  seen  him  with  children  ? ' 

*  I  never  saw  him  with  children,'  said  Vida,  buttoning  the  last 
button  of  her  glove. 

'Well,  come  down  and  watch  him  with  Sara  and  Cecil.  They 
perfectly  adore  him.' 

'No,  it's  too  late.' 

But  the  fond  mother  drew  her  friend  to  the  window.  'You 
can  see  them  from  here.' 

Vida  was  not  so  hurried,  apparently,  but  what  she  could  stand 
there  taking  in  the  picture  of  Sara  and  Cecil  climbing  about  their 
big,  kind  cousin,  with  Jean  and  Mr.  Freddy  looking  on. 

'Children!'  Their  mother  waved  a  handkerchief.  'Here's 
another  friend !  Chil  —  They're  too  absorbed  to  notice,' 
she  said  apologetically,  turning  to  find  Vida  had  left  the  window, 
and  was  saying  good-bye  to  Borrodaile. 

'Oh,  yes,'  he  agreed,  'they  won't  care  about  anybody  else  while 
Geoffrey  is  there.'  Lord  Borrodaile  stooped  and  picked  up 
a  piece  of  folded  paper  off  the  sofa.  'Did  I  drop  that?'  He 

opened  it.  '  Votes  for '  He  read  the  two  words  out  in  an 

accent  that  seemed  to  brand  them  with  foolishness,  even  with 
vulgarity.  'No,  decidedly  I  did  not  drop  it.' 

He  was  conveying  the  sheet  to  the  wastepaper  basket  as  one 
who  piously  removes  some  unsavoury  litter  out  of  the  way  of  those 
who  walk  delicately.  Miss  Levering  arrested  him  with  out 
stretched  hand. 

'Do  you  want  it?'    His  look  adjured  her  to  say,  'No.' 

'Yes,  I  want  it.' 

'What  for?'  he  persisted. 

'I  want  it  for  an  address  there  is  on  it.' 


CHAPTER   XI 

IT  was  Friday,  and  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  was  setting  out  to  alleviate 
the  lot  of  the  poor  in  Whitechapel. 

'Even  if  it  were  not  Friday,'  Vida  said  slyly  as  her  sister  was 
preparing  to  leave  the  house,  'you'd  invent  some  errand  to  take 
you  out  of  the  contaminated  air  of  Queen  Anne's  Gate  this  after 
noon.' 

'Well,  as  I  told  you,'  said  the  other  woman,  nervously,  'you 
ask  that  person  here  on  your  own  responsibility.' 

Vida  smiled.  'I'm  obliged  to  ask  people  here  if  I  want  to  see 
them  quietly.  You  make  such  a  fuss  when  I  suggest  having 
a  house  of  my  own'.' 

Mrs.  Fox-Moore  ignored  the  alternative.  'You'll  see  you're 
only  making  trouble  for  yourself.  You'll  have  to  pay  handsomely 
for  your  curiosity.' 

'Well,  I've  been  rather  economical  of  late.  Maybe  I'll  be  able 
"to  pay.'" 

'Don't  imagine  you'll  be  able  to  settle  an  account  of  that  kind 
with  a  single  cheque.  Give  people  like  that  an  inch,  and  they'll 
expect  a  weekly  ell.' 

'Are  you  afraid  she'll  abstract  the  spoons?' 

'I'm  not  only  afraid,  I  know  she  won't  be  satisfied  with  one 
contribution,  or  one  visit.  She'll  regard  it  as  the  thin  end  of  the 
wedge  —  getting  her  nose  into  a  house  of  this  kind.'  Irresistibly 
the  words  conjured  up  a  vision  of  some  sharp-visaged  female 
marauder  insinuating  the  tip  of  a  very  pointed  nose  between  the 
great  front  door  and  the  lintel.  'I  only  hope,'  the  elder  woman 
went  on,  'that  I  won't  be  here  the  first  time  Donald  encounters 
your  new  friend  on  the  doorstep.  That's  all!' 

Wherewith  she  departed  to  succour  women  and  children  at 
long  range  in  the  good  old  way.  Little  Doris  was  ill  in  bed. 
Mr.  Fox-Moore  was  understood  to  have  joined  his  brother's 
coaching  party.  The  time  had  been  discreetly  chosen  —  the 
coast  was  indubitably  clear.  But  would  it  remain  so? 


iS2  THE   CONVERT 

To  insure  that  it  should,  Miss  Levering  had  a  private  con 
ference  with  the  butler. 

'Some  one  is  coming  to  see  me  on  business.* 

'Yes,  miss.' 

'At  half -past  five.' 

'Yes,  miss.' 

'I  specially  don't  want  to  be  interrupted.' 

'No,  miss.' 

'Not  by  anybody,  no  matter  whom.' 

'Very  well,  miss.'  A  slight  pause.  'Shall  I  show  the  gentle 
man  into  the  drawing-room,  miss?' 

'It's  not  a  gentleman,  and  I'll  see  her  upstairs  in  my  sitting- 
room.' 

'Yes,  miss.     Very  well,  miss.' 

'And  don't  forget  —  to  any  one  else  I'm  not  at  home.' 

'No,  miss.     What  name,  miss?' 

Vida  hesitated.  The  servants  nowadays  read  everything. 
'  Oh,  you  can't  make  a  mistake.  She  —  It  will  be  a  stranger 
—  some  one  who  has  never  been  here  before.  Wait!  I'll  look 
out  of  the  morning-room  window.  If  it  is  the  person  I'm  expect 
ing,  I'll  ring  the  bell.  You  understand.  If  the  morning-room 
bell  has  rung  just  as  this  person  comes,  it  will  be  the  one  I'm 
expecting.' 

'Yes,  miss.'  With  a  splendid  impassivity  in  the  face  of  pre 
cautions  so  unprecedented,  the  servant  withdrew. 

Vida  smiled  to  herself  as  she  leaned  back  among  fhe  cushions 
of  her  capacious  sofa,  cutting  the  pages  of  a  book.  A  pleasant 
place  this  room  of  hers,  wide  and  cool,  where  the  creamy  back 
ground  of  wall  and  chintz-cover  was  lattice-laced  with  roses. 
The  open  windows  looked  out  upon  one  of  those  glimpses  of 
greenery  made  vivid  to  the  London  eye,  not  alone  by  gratitude, 
but  by  contrast  of  the  leafage  against  the  ebonized  bark  of  smoke- 
ingrained  bole  and  twig. 

The  summer  wind  was  making  great,  gentle  fans  of  the  plane 
branches;  it  was  swaying  the  curtains  that  hung  down  in  long, 
straight  folds  from  the  high  cornices.  No  other  sound  in  the 
room  but  the  hard  grate  of  the  ivory  paper-knife  sawing  its  way 
through  a  book  whose  outside  alone  (a  muddy-brown,  pimpled 
cloth)  proclaimed  it  utilitarian.  Among  the  fair-covered  Italian 


THE   CONVERT  153 

volumes,  the  vellum-bound  poets,  and  those  friends-for-a-lifetime 
wearing  linen  or  morocco  to  suit  a  special  taste ;  above  all,  among 
that  greater  company  'quite  impudently  French'  that  stood 
close  ranked  on  shelves  or  lay  about  on  tables  —  the  brown  book 
on  its  dusty  modern  theme  wore  the  air  of  a  frieze-coated  yeoman 
sitting  amongst  broadcloth  and  silk.  The  reader  glanced  from 
time  to  time  at  the  clock.  When  the  small  glittering  hand  on  the 
porcelain  face  pointed  to  twenty  minutes  past  five,  the  lady  took 
her  book  and  her  paper-knife  into  a  front  room  on  the  floor  below. 
She  sat  down  behind  the  lowered  persienne,  and  every  now  and 
then  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  page  and  peered  out  between  the 
tiny  slits.  As  the  time  went  on  she  looked  out  oftener.  More 
than  once  she  half  rose  and  seemed  about  to  abandon  all  hope 
of  the  mysterious  visitor  when  a  hansom  dashed  up  to  the  door. 
One  swift  glance :  '  They  go  in  cabs  ! '  —  and  Miss  Levering  ran 
to  the  bell. 

A  few  moments  after,  she  was  again  established  in  her  sofa 
corner,  and  the  door  of  her  sitting-room  opened.  'The  lady, 
miss.'  Into  the  wide,  harmonious  space  was  ushered  a  hot  and 
harassed-looking  woman,  in  a  lank  alpaca  gown  and  a  tam-o'- 
shanter.  Miss  Claxton's  clothes,  like  herself,  had  borne  the  heat 
and  burden  of  the  day.  She  frowned  as  she  gave  her  hand. 

'I  am  late,  but  it  was  very  difficult  to  get  away  at  all.' 

Miss  Levering  pushed  towards  her  one  of  the  welcoming  great 
easy-chairs  that  stood  holding  out  cool  arms  and  a  lap  of  roses. 
The  tired  visitor,  with  her  dusty  clothes  and  brusque  manner, 
sat  down  without  relaxing  to  the  luxurious  invitation.  Her 
stiffly  maintained  attitude  and  direct  look  said  as  plain  as  print, 
Now  what  excuse  have  you  to  offer  for  asking  me  to  come  here? 
It  may  have  been  recollection  of  Mrs.  Fox-Moore's  fear  of  'the 
thin  end  of  the  wedge '  that  made  Miss  Levering  smile  as  she  said  — 

'Yes,  I've  been  expecting  you  for  the  last  half  hour,  but  it's 
very  good  of  you  to  come  at  all.' 

Miss  Claxton  looked  as  if  she  quite  agreed. 

'You'll  have  some  tea?'  Miss  Levering  was  moving  towards 
the  bell. 

'No,  I've  had  my  tea.' 

The  queer  sound  of  'my'  tea  connoting  so  much  else!  The 
hostess  subsided  on  to  the  sofa. 


154  THE   CONVERT 

' 1  heard  you  speak  the  other  day  as  I  told  you  in  my  note.  But 
all  the  same  I  came  away  with  several  unanswered  questions  — 
questions  that  I  wanted  to  put  to  you  quietly.  As  I  wrote  you, 
I  am  not  what  you  would  call  a  convert.  I've  only  got  as  far  as 
the  inquiry  stage.' 

Miss  Claxton  waited. 

'Still,  if  I  take  up  your  time,  I  ought  not  to  let  you  be  out 
of  pocket  by  it.' 

The  hostess  glanced  towards  the  little  spindle-legged  writing- 
table,  where,  on  top  of  a  heap  of  notes,  lay  the  blue  oblong  of 
a  cheque-book. 

'  We  consider  it  part  of  every  day's  business  to  answer  questions/ 
said  Miss  Claxton. 

'I  suppose  I  can  make  some  little  contribution  without  — 
without  its  committing  me  to  anything?' 

'  Committing  you  — 

'Yes;  it  wouldn't  get  into  the  papers,'  she  said,  a  little  shame 
faced,  'or  —  or  anything  like  that.' 

'It  wouldn't  get  into  the  papers  unless  you  put  it  in.' 

The  lady  blinked.  There  was  a  little  pause.  She  was  not 
easy  to  talk  to  —  this  young  woman.  Nor  was  she  the  ideal 
collector  of  contributions. 

'That  was  a  remarkable  meeting  you  had  in  Hyde  Park  last 
Sunday.' 

' Remarkable?    Oh,  no,  they're  all  pretty  much  alike.' 

'Do  they  all  end  like  that?' 

'  Oh,  yes ;  people  come  to  scoff,  and  by  degrees  we  get  hold  of 
them  —  even  the  Hyde  Park  loafers.' 

'I  mean,  do  they  often  crowd  up  and  try  to  hustle  the  speakers?' 

'Oh,  they  are  usually  quite  good-natured.' 

'You  handled  them  wonderfully.' 

'We're  used  to  dealing  with  crowds.' 

Her  look  went  round  the  room,  as  if  to  say,  'It's  this  kind  of 
thing  I'm  not  used  to,  and  I  don't  take  to  it  over-kindly.' 

'In  the  crush  at  the  end,'  said  Miss  Levering,  'I  overheard 
a  scrap  of  conversation  between  two  men.  They  were  talking 
about  you.  "Very  good  for  a  woman,"  one  said.' 

Miss  Claxton  smiled  a  scornful  little  smile. 

'And  the  other  one  said,  "It  would  have  been  very  good  for 


THE  CONVERT  155 

a  man.  And  personally,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  many  men 
who  could  have  kept  that  crowd  in  hand  for  two  hours."  That's 
what  two  men  thought  of  it.' 

She  made  no  answer. 

'  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  possible  that  your  speakers  average  as 
good  as  those  I  heard  on  Sunday.' 

'We  have  a  good  many  who  speak  well,  but  we  look  upon 
Ernestine  Blunt  as  our  genius.' 

'Yes,  she  seems  rather  a  wonderful  little  person,  but  I  wrote 
to  you  because  —  partly  because  you  are  older.  And  you  gave 
me  the  impression  of  being  extremely  level-headed.' 

'Ernestine  Blunt  is  level-headed  too,'  said  Miss  Claxton, 
warily. 

She  was  looking  into  the  lady's  face,  frowning  a  little  in  that 
way  of  hers,  intent,  even  somewhat  suspicious. 

'  Oh,  I  dare  say,  but  she's  such  a  child ! ' 

'We  sometimes  think  Ernestine  Blunt  has  the  oldest  head 
among  us.' 

'Really,'  said  Miss  Levering.  'When  a  person  is  as  young 
as  that,  you  don't  know  how  much  is  her  own  and  how  much 
borrowed.' 

'She  doesn't  need  to  borrow.' 

'But  you.  I  said  to  myself,  "That  woman,  who  makes  other 
things  so  clear,  she  can  clear  up  one  or  two  things  for  me."' 

'Well,  I  don't  know.'  More  wary  than  ever,  she  suspended 
judgment. 

'  I  noticed  none  of  you  paid  any  attention  when  the  crowd  called 
out  —  things  about ' 

Miss  Claxton's  frown  deepened.  It  was  plain  she  heard  the 
echo  of  that  insistent,  never-answered  query  of  the  crowd,  'Got 
your  dog-whip,  miss?'  She  waited. 

It  looked  as  though  Miss  Levering  lacked  courage  to  repeat 
it  in  all  its  violent  bareness. 

' when  they  called  out  things  —  about  the  encounters 

with  the  police.  It's  those  stories,  as  I  suppose  you  know,  that 
have  set  so  many  against  the  movement.' 

No  word  out  of  Miss  Claxton.  She  sat  there,  not  leaning 
back,  nor  any  longer  stiffly  upright,  but  hunched  together  like 
a  creature  ready  to  spring. 


156  THE   CONVERT 

'I  believed  those  stories  too;  but  when  I  had  watched 
and  listened  to  you  on  Sunday,'  Miss  Levering  hastened  to  add, 
a  little  shamefaced  at  the  necessity,  'I  said  to  myself,  not'  (sud 
denly  she  stopped  and  smiled  with  disarming  frankness)  — 
'I  didn't  say,  "That  woman's  too  well-behaved,  or  too  amiable;" 
I  said,  "  She's  too  intelligent.  That  woman  never  spat  at  a  police 
man.'" 

'Spit?     No,'  she  said  grimly. 

'  "Nor  bit,  nor  scratched,  nor  any  of  those  things.  And  since 
the  papers  have  lied  about  that,"  I  said  to  myself,  "I'll  go  to 
headquarters  for  information."  ' 

'What  papers  do  you  read?' 

'Oh,  practically  all.  This  house  is  like  a  club  for  papers  and 
magazines.  My  brother-in-law  has  everything/ 

'The  Clarion?' 

'No,  I  never  saw  the  Clarion.9 

'The  Labour  Leader?' 

'No.' 

'The  Labour  Record?9 

'No.' 

'It  is  the  organ  of  our  party.' 

'I  —  I'm  afraid  I  never  heard  of  any  of  them.' 

Miss  Claxton  smiled. 

'I'll  take  them  in  myself  in  future,'  said  the  lady  on  the  sofa. 
'Was  it  reading  those  papers  that  set  you  to  thinking?' 

'Reading    papers?     Oh,   no.     It    was '     She    hesitated, 

and  puckered  up  her  browrs  again  as  she  stared  round  the  room. 

'Yes,  go  on.  That's  one  of  the  things  I  wanted  to  know,  if 
you  don't  mind  —  how  you  came  to  be  identified  with  the  move 
ment.' 

A  little  wearily,  without  the  smallest  spark  of  enthusiasm  at 
the  prospect  of  imparting  her  biography,  Miss  Claxton  told  slowly, 
even  dully,  and  wholly  without  passion,  the  story  of  a  hard  life 
met  single-handed  from  even  the  tender  childhood  days  —  one 
of  those  recitals  that  change  the  relation  between  the  one  who 
tells  and  the  one  who  listens  —  makes  the  last  a  sharer  in  the 
life  to  the  extent  that  the  two  can  never  be  strangers  any  more. 
Though  they  may  not  meet,  nor  write,  nor  have  any  tangible 
communication,  there  is  understanding  between  them. 


THE   CONVERT  157 

At  the  close  Miss  Levering  stood  up  and  gave  the  other  her 
hand.  Neither  said  anything.  They  looked  at  each  other. 

After  the  lady  had  resumed  her  seat,  Miss  Claxton,  as  under 
some  compulsion  born  of  the  other's  act  of  sympathy,  went  on  — 

'It  is  a  newspaper  lie  —  as  you  haven't  needed  to  be  told - 
about  the  spitting  and  scratching  and  biting  —  but  the  day  I  was 
arrested,  the  day  of  the  deputation  to  Emngham,  I  saw  a  police 
man  knocking  some  of  our  poorer  women  about  very  roughly'  (it 
had  its  significance,  the  tone  in  which  she  said  'our  poorer  women'). 
'I  called  out  that  he  was  not  to  do  that  again.     He  had  one  of 
our  women  like  this,  and  he  was  banging  her  against  the  railings. 
I  called  out  if  he  didn't  stop  I  would  make  him.     He  kept  on'  - 
a  cold  glitter  came  into  the  eyes  —  'and  I  struck  him.     I  struck 
the  coward  in  the  face.' 

The  air  of  the  mild  luxurious  room  grew  hot  and  quivered. 
The  lady  on  the  sofa  lowered  her  eyes. 

'They  must  be  taught,'  the  other  said  sternly,  'the  police  must 
be  taught,  they  are  not  to  treat  our  women  like  that.  On  the 
whole  the  police  behave  well.  But  their  power  is  immense  and 
almost  entirely  unchecked.  It's  a  marvel  they  are  as  decent  as 
they  are.  How  should  they  be  expected  to  know  how  to  treat 
women?  What  example  do  they  have?  Don't  they  hear  con 
stantly  in  the  courts  how  little  it  costs  a  man  to  be  convicted  of 
beating  his  own  wife?'  She  fired  the  questions  at  the  innocent 
person  on  the  sofa,  as  if  she  held  her  directly  responsible  for  the 
need  to  ask  them.  'Stealing  is  far  more  dangerous;  yes,  even 
if  a  man's  starving.  That's  because  bread  is  often  dear  and 
women  are  always  cheap.' 

She  waited  a  moment,  waited  for  the  other  to  contradict  or 
at  least  resent  the  dictum.  The  motionless  figure  among  the 
sofa  cushions,  whose  very  look  and  air  seemed  to  proclaim  'some 
of  us  are  expensive  enough,'  hardly  opened  her  lips  to  say,  as  if 
to  herself  - 

'Yes,  women  are  cheap.' 

Perhaps  Miss  Claxton  thought  the  agreement  lacked  convic 
tion,  for  she  went  on  with  a  harsh  hostility  that  seemed  almost 
personal  — 

'We'd  rather  any  day  be  handled  by  the  police  than  by  the 
self -constituted  stewards  of  political  meetings.' 


158  THE  CONVERT 

Partly  the  words,  even  more  the  look  in  the  darkening  face, 
made  Miss  Levering  say  — 

'That  brings  me  to  something  else  I  wanted  to  be  enlightened 
about.  One  reason  I  wrote  to  ask  for  a  little  talk  with  you  spe 
cially,  was  because  I  couldn't  imagine  your  doing  anything  so 
futile  as  to  pit  your  physical  strength  —  considerable  as  it  may 
be  —  but  to  pit  your  muscle  against  men's  is  merely  absurd. 
And  I,  when  I  saw  how  intelligent  you  were,  I  saw  that  you  know 
all  that  quite  as  well  as  I.  Why,  then,  carry  a  whip  ? ' 

The  lowered  eyelids  of  the  face  opposite  quivered  faintly. 

'You  couldn't  think  it  would  save  you  from  arrest.' 

'No,  not  from  arrest.'     The  woman's  mouth  hardened. 

1 1  know '  -  —  Miss  Levering  bridged  the  embarrassment  of 
the  pause  —  'I  know  there  must  be  some  rational  explanation.' 

But  if  there  were  it  was  not  forthcoming. 

'So  you  see  your  most  indefensible  and  even  futile-appearing 
action  gave  the  cue  for  my  greatest  interest,'  said  Vida,  v/ith  a 
mixture  of  anxiety  and  bluntness.  'For  just  the  woman  you 
were,  to  do  so  brainless  a  thing  —  what  was  behind?  That 
was  what  I  kept  asking  myself.' 

'It  —  isn't  —  only  —  rough  treatment  one  or  two  of  us  have 
met'  —  she  pulled  out  the  words  slowly  —  'it's  sometimes  worse.' 
They  both  waited  in  a  curious  chill  embarrassment.  'Not  the 
police,  but  the  stewards  at  political  meetings,  and  the  men  who  vol 
unteer  to  "  keep  the  women  in  order,"  they '  —  she  raised  her  fierce 
eyes  and  the  colour  rose  in  her  cheeks  —  'as  they're  turning  us 
out  they  punish  us  in  ways  the  public  don't  know.'  She  saw 
the  shrinking  wonder  in  the  woman  opposite,  and  she  did  not 
spare  her.  'They  punish  us  by  underhand  maltreatment  —  of 
the  kind  most  intolerable  to  a  decent  woman.' 

'  Oh,  no,  no  ! '     The  other  face  was  a  flame  to  match. 

'  Yes  1 '     She  flung  it  out  like  a  poisoned  arrow. 

'  How  dare  they  1 '  said  Vida  in  a  whisper. 

'They  know  we  dare  not  complain.' 

'Why   not?' 

A  duller  red  overspread  the  face  as  the  woman  muttered,  'No 
body,  no  woman,  wants  to  talk  about  it.  And  if  we  did  they'd 
only  say,  "See!  you're  killing  chivalry."  Chivalry /'  She 
laughed.  It  was  not  good  to  hear  a  laugh  like  that. 


THE   CONVERT  159 

The  figure  on  the  sofa  winced.  'I  assure  you  people  don't 
know,'  said  Vida. 

'It's  known  well  enough  to  those  who've  had  to  suffer  it,  and 
it's  known  to  the  brutes  of  men  who  — 

'Ah,  but  you  must  realize'  —  Miss  Levering  jumped  to  her 
feet  —  'you  must  admit  that  the  great  mass  of  men  would  be 
indignant  if  they  knew.' 

'  You  think  so  ? '  The  question  was  insulting  in  its  air  of  for 
bearance  with  a  fairy-tale  view  of  life. 

'  Think  so  ?  I  know  it.  I  should  be  sorry  for  my  own  powers 
of  judgment  if  I  believed  the  majority  of  men  were  like  the  worst 
specimens  —  like  those  you  — 

'  Oh,  well,  we  don't  dwell  on  that  side.  It's  enough  to  remem 
ber  that  women  without  our  incentive  have  to  bear  worse.  It's 
part  of  a  whole  system.' 

'I  shall  never  believe  that!'  exclaimed  Vida,  thinking  what 
was  meant  was  an  organized  conspiracy  against  the  Suffragettes. 

'Yes,  it's  all  part  of  the  system  we  are  in  the  world  to  overturn. 
Why  should  we  suppose  we'd  gain  anything  by  complaining? 
Don't  hundreds,  thousands  of  meek  creatures  who  have  never 
defied  anybody,  don't  they  have  to  bear  worse  ignominies  ?  Every 
man  knows  that's  true.  Who  troubles  himself?  What  is  the 
use,  we  say,  of  crying  about  individual  pains  and  penalties  ?  No. 
The  thing  is  to  work  day  and  night  to  root  out  the  system  that 
makes  such  things  possible.' 

'  I  still  don't  understand  —  why  you  thought  it  would  be  a 
protection  to  carry 

'A  man's  fear  of  ridicule  will  restrain  him  when  nothing  else 
will.  If  one  of  them  is  publicly  whipped,  and  by  a  woman,  it 
isn't  likely  to  be  forgotten.  Even  the  fear  of  it  —  protects  us 
from  some  things.  After  an  experience  some  of  the  women  had, 
the  moment  our  committee  decided  on  another  demonstration, 
little  Mary  O'Brian  went  out,  without  consulting  anybody,  and 
bought  me  the  whip.  "If  you  will  go,"  she  said,  "you  shan't 
go  unarmed.  If  we  have  that  sort  of  cur  to  deal  with,  the  only 
thing  is  to  carry  a  dog-whip."  ' 

Miss  Claxton  clenched  her  hands  in  their  grey  cotton  gloves. 
There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  several  seconds. 

'What  we  do  in  asking  questions  publicly  —  it's  only  what 


i6o  THE   CONVERT 

men  do  constantly.  The  greatest  statesman  in  the  land  stops 
to  answer  a  man,  even  if  he's  a  fool  naturally,  or  half  drunk. 
They  treat  those  interrupters  with  respect,  they  answer  their 
questions  civilly.  They  are  men.  They  have  votes.  But  women : 
"Where's  the  chucker  out?'" 

'Are  you  never  afraid  that  all  you're  going  through  may  be 
in  vain?' 

'No.  We  are  quite  certain  to  succeed.  We  have  found  the 
right  way  at  last.' 

'  You  mean  what  are  called  your  tactics  ? ' 

'I  mean  the  spirit  of  the  women.  I  mean:  not  to  mind  the 
price.  When  you've  got  people  to  feel  like  that,  success  is  sure.' 

'But  it  comes  very  hard  on  those  few  who  pay  with  the  person, 
as  the  French  say,  pay  writh  prison  —  and  with 

'  Prison  isn't  the  worst ! ' 

A  kind  of  shyness  came  over  the  woman  on  the  sofa ;  she  dropped 
her  eyes  from  the  other's  face. 

'Of  course,'  the  ex-prisoner  went  on,  'if  more  women  did  a 
little  it  wouldn't  be  necessary  for  the  few  to  do  so  much.' 

'I  suppose  you  are  in  need  of  funds  to  carry  on  the  propa 
ganda.' 

'Money  isn't  what  is  most  needed.  One  of  our  workers  —  a 
little  mill  girl  —  came  up  from  the  country  with  only  two  pounds 
in  her  pocket  to  rouse  London.  And  she  did  it ! '  her  comrade 
exulted.  'But  there's  a  class  we  don't  reach.  If  only'  —  she 
hesitated  and  glanced  reflectively  at  the  woman  before  her. 

'Yes?'     Miss  Levering's  eye  flew  to  the  cheque-book. 

'If  only  we  could  get  women  of  influence  to  understand  what's 
at  stake,'  said  Miss  Claxton,  a  little  wistfully. 

'They  don't?' 

'Oh,  some.     A  few.     As  much  as  can  be  expected.' 

'  Why  do  you  say  that  ? ' 

'Well,  the  upper-class  women,  I  don't  say  all'  (she  spoke  as 
one  exercising  an  extreme  moderation) ;  '  but  many  of  them  are 
such  sexless  creatures.' 

Miss  Levering  opened  wide  eyes  —  a  glint  of  something  like 
amazed  laughter  crossed  her  face,  as  she  repeated  — 

'They  are  sexless,  you  think?' 

'  We  find  them  so/  said  the  other,  firmly. 


THE   CONVERT  161 

'Why'  —  Miss  Levering  smiled  outright  —  'that's  what  they 
say  of  you.' 

'Well,  it's  nonsense,  like  the  rest  of  what  they  say.' 

The  accusation  of  sexlessness  brought  against  the  curled  dar 
lings  of  society  by  these  hard-working,  hard-hitting  sisters  of 
theirs  was  not  the  least  ironic  thing  in  the  situation. 

'Why  do  you  call  them ?' 

'Because  we  see  they  have  no  sex-pride.  If  they  had,  they 
couldn't  do  the  things  they  do.' 

'What  sort  of  things?' 

'Oh,  I  can't  go  into  that.'  She  stood  up  and  tugged  at  her 
wrinkled  cotton  gloves.  'But  it's  easy  for  us  to  see  they're  sex 
less.'  She  seemed  to  resent  the  unbelief  in  the  opposite  face. 
'Lady  Caterham  sent  for  me  the  other  day.  You  may  have 
heard  of  Lady  Caterham.' 

Miss  Levering  suppressed  the  fact  of  how  much,  by  a  vague- 
sounding  — 

'Y  — yes.' 

'Well,  she  sent  for  me  to Oh,  I  suppose  she  was  curious !' 

'Like  me,'  said  the  other,  smiling. 

'  She's  a  very  great  person  in  her  county,  and  she  said  she  sym 
pathized  with  the  movement  —  only  she  didn't  approve  of  our 
tactics,  she  said.  We  are  pretty  well  used  by  now  to  people  who 
don't  approve  of  our  tactics,  so  I  just  sat  and  waited  for  the  "dog- 
whip."  ' 

It  was  obvious  that  the  lady  without  influence  in  her  county 
winced  at  that,  almost  as  though  she  felt  the  whip  on  her  own 
shoulders.  She  was  indeed  a  hard-hitter,  this  woman. 

'I  don't  go  about  talking  of  why  I  carry  a  whip.  I  hate  talking 
about  it,'  she  flung  the  words  out  resentfully.  'But  I'd  been 
sent  to  try  to  get  that  woman  to  help,  and  so  I  explained.  I  told 
her  when  she  asked  why  it  seemed  necessary '  —  again  the  face 
flushed  —  'I  told  her!  —  more  than  I've  told  you.  And  will 
you  believe  it,  she  never  turned  a  hair.  Just  sat  there  with  a 
look  of  cool  curiosity  on  her  face.  Oh,  they  have  no  sex-pride, 
those  upper-class  women!' 

'Lady  Caterham  probably  didn't  understand.' 

'Perfectly.  She  asked  questions.  No,  it  just  didn't  matter 
much  to  her  that  a  woman  should  suffer  that  sort  of  thing.  She 


162  THE   CONVERT 

didn't  feel  the  indignity  of  it.  Perhaps  if  it  had  come  to  her, 
she  wouldn't  have  suffered/  said  the  critic,  with  a  grim  contempt. 

'There  may  be  another  explanation/  said  Miss  Levering,  a 
little  curtly,  but  wisely  she  forbore  to  present  it. 

If  the  rough  and  ready  reformer  had  chilled  her  new  sympa 
thizer  by  this  bitterness  against  'the  parasite  class/  she  wiped 
out  the  memory  of  it  by  the  enthusiasm  with  which  she  spoke  of 
those  other  women,  her  fellow-workers. 

'Our  women  are  wonderful!'  she  lifted  her  tired  head.  'I 
knew  they'd  never  had  a  chance  to  show  what  they  were,  but 

there  are  some  things No !  I  didn't  think  women  had  it 

in  them.' 

She  had  got  up  and  was  standing  now  by  the  door,  her  limp 
gown  clinging  round  her,  her  weather-beaten  Tarn  on  one  side. 
But  in  the  confident  look  with  which  she  spoke  of  'our  women/ 
the  brow  had  cleared.  You  saw  that  it  was  beautiful.  Miss 
Levering  stood  at  the  door  with  an  anxious  eye  on  the  stair,  as 
if  fearful  of  the  home-coming  of  'her  fellow-coward/  or,  direr 
catastrophe  —  old  Mr.  Fox-Moore's  discovering  the  damning 
fact  of  this  outlaw's  presence  under  his  roof !  Yet,  even  so,  torn 
thus  between  dread  and  desire  to  pluck  out  the  heart  of  the  new 
mystery,  'the  militant  woman/  Miss  Levering  did  not  speed  the 
parting  guest.  As  though  recognizing  fully  now  that  the  prophe 
sied  use  was  not  going  to  be  made  of  the  'thin  end  of  the  wedge/ 
she  detained  her  with  — 

'I  wonder  when  I  shall  see  you  again.' 

'I  don't  know/  said  the  other,  absently. 

'When  is  the  next  meeting?' 

'Next  Sunday.     Every  Sunday.' 

'I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  you  speak  again;  but — you'll  come 
and  see  me  —  here.' 

'I  can't.     I'm  going  away.' 

'Oh!     To  rest,  I  hope.' 

'Rest?'  She  laughed  at  an  idea  so  comic.  'Oh,  no.  I'm 
going  to  work  among  the  women  in  Wales.  We  have  great  hopes 
of  those  West-country  women.  They're  splendid!  They're 
learning  the  secret  of  co-operation,  too.  Oh,  it's  good  stuff  to 
work  on  —  the  relief  of  it  after  London  ! ' 

Miss  Levering  smiled.     'Then  I  won't  be  seeing  you  very  soon.' 


THE   CONVERT  163 

'No.'  She  seemed  to  be  thinking.  'It's  true  what  I  say  of 
the  Welsh  women,  and  yet  we  oughtn't  to  be  ungrateful  to  our 
London  women  either.'  She  seemed  to  have  some  sense  of  in 
justice  on  her  soul.  'We've  been  seeing  just  recently  what  they're 
made  of,  too  ! '  She  paused  on  the  threshold  and  began  to  tell  in 
a  low  voice  of  women 'new  to  the  work,' who  had  been  wavering, 
uncertain  if  they  could  risk  imprisonment  —  poor  women  with 
husbands  and  children.  '  When  they  heard  what  it  might  mean  — 
this  battle  we're  fighting  —  they  were  ashamed  not  to  help  us ! ' 

'  You  mean '  Vida  began,  shrinking. 

'  Yes ! '  said  the  other,  fiercely.  '  The  older  women  saw  they 
ought  to  save  the  younger  ones  from  having  to  face  that  sort  of 
thing.  That  was  how  we  got  some  of  the  wives  and  mothers.' 

She  went  on  with  a  stern  emotion  that  was  oddly  contagious, 
telling  about  a  certain  scene  at  the  Headquarters  of  the  Union. 
Against  the  grey  and  squalid  background  of  a  Poor  Women's 
movement,  stood  out  in  those  next  seconds  a  picture  that  the  true 
historian  who  is  to  come  will  not  neglect.  A  call  for  recruits 
with  this  result  —  a  huddled  group,  all  new,  unproved,  ignorant 
of  the  ignorant.  The  two  or  three  leaders,  conscience-driven, 
feeling  it  necessary  to  explain  to  the  untried  women  that  if  they 
shared  in  the  agitation,  they  were  not  only  facing  imprisonment, 
but  unholy  handling. 

'It  was  only  fair  to  let  them  know  the  worst,'  said  the  woman 
at  the  door,  'before  they  were  allowed  to  join  us.' 

As  the  abrupt  sentences  fell,  the  grim  little  scene  was  recon 
stituted;  the  shrinking  of  the  women  who  had  offered  their  ser 
vices  ignorant  of  this  aspect  of  the  battle —  their  horror  and  their 
shame.  At  the  memory  of  that  hour  the  strongly-controlled 
voice  shook. 

'They  cried,  those  women,'  she  said. 

'But  they  came?'  asked  the  other,  trembling,  as  though  for  her, 
too,  it  was  vital  that  these  poor  women  should  not  quail. 

'Yes,'  answered  their  leader  a  little  hoarsely,  'they  camel' 


CHAPTER    XII 

ONE  of  the  oddest  things  about  these  neo-Suffragists  was  the 
simplicity  with  which  they  accepted  aid  —  the  absence  in  the 
responsible  ones  of  conventional  gratitude.  This  became  matter 
for  both  surprise  and  instruction  to  the  outsider.  It  no  doubt 
had  the  effect  of  chilling  and  alienating  the  '  philanthropist  on  the 
make.'  Even  to  the  less  ungenerous,  not  bargainers  for  approba 
tion  or  for  influence,  even  in  their  case  the  deep-rooted  suspicion 
we  have  been  taught  to  cultivate  for  one  another,  makes  the  gift 
of  good  faith  so  difficult  that  it  can  be  given  freely  only  to  people 
like  these,  people  who  plainly  and  daily  suffered  for  their  creed, 
who  stood  to  lose  all  the  things  most  of  us  strive  for,  people  who 
valued  neither  comfort,  nor  money,  nor  the  world's  good  word. 
That  they  took  help,  and  even  sacrifice,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
seemed  in  them  mere  modesty  and  sound  good  sense ;  tantamount 
to  saying,  'I  am  not  so  silly  or  self-centred  as  to  suppose  you  do  this 
for  me.  You  do  it,  of  course,  for  the  Cause.  The  Cause  is  yours 
— is  all  Women's.  You  serve  humanity.  Who  am  I  that  I  should 
thank  you?' 

This  attitude  extended  even  to  acts  that  were  in  truth  prompted 
less  by  concern  for  the  larger  issue  than  by  sheer  personal  interest. 

Vida  Levering's  first  experience  of  this  'new  attitude'  came  one 
late  afternoon  while  on  her  way  to  leave  cards  on  some  people  in 
Grosvenor  Road.  Driving  through  Pimlico  about  half-past  six, 
she  lifted  up  her  eyes  at  the  sound  of  many  voices  and  beheld  a 
mob  of  men  and  boys  in  the  act  of  pursuing  a  little  group  of  women, 
who  were  fleeing  up  a  side  street  away  from  the  river.  The  natural 
shrinking  and  disgust  of  '  the  sheltered  woman '  showed  in  the  face 
of  the  occupant  of  the  brougham  as  she  leaned  forward  and  said 
to  the  coachman  — 

'Not  this  way!  Don't  you  see  there's  some  disturbance? 
Turn  back.' 

The  man  obeyed.  The  little  crowd  had  halted.  It  looked  as 

164 


THE   CONVERT  165 

if  the  thief,  or  drunken  woman,  or  what  not,  had  been  surrounded 
and  overwhelmed.  The  end  of  the  street  abutted  on  Pimlico  Pier. 
Two  or  three  knots  of  people  were  still  standing  about,  talking  and 
looking  up  the  street  at  the  little  crowd  of  shouting,  gesticulating 
rowdies.  A  woman  with  a  perambulator,  making  up  her  mind  at 
just  the  wrong  moment  to  cross  the  road,  found  herself  almost 
under  the  feet  of  the  Fox-Moore  horses.  The  coachman  pulled 
up  sharply,  and  before  he  had  driven  on,  the  lady's  eyes  had  fallen 
on  an  inscription  in  white  chalk  on  the  flagstone  — 

'VOTES   FOR  WOMEN. 
'Meeting  here  to-night  at  a  quarter  to  six.' 

The  occupant  of  the  carriage  turned  her  head  sharply  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  'disturbance,'  and  then  — 

'After  all,  I  must  go  up  that  street.  Drive  fast  till  you  get  near 
those  people.  Quick!' 

'  Up  there,  miss  ? ' 

'Yes,  yes.  Make  haste  !'  For  the  crowd  was  moving  on,  and 
still  no  sign  of  a  policeman. 

By  the  time  the  brougham  caught  up  with  them,  the  little 
huddle  of  folk  had  nearly  reached  the  top  of  the  street.  In  the 
middle  of  the  melee  a  familiar  face.  Ernestine  Blunt ! 

'Oh,  Henderson!'  —  Miss  Levering  put  her  head  out  of  the 
window  —  'that  girl !  the  young  one  !  She's  being  mobbed.' 

'Yes,  miss/ 

'But  something  must  be  done !     Hail  a  policeman.' 

'Yes,  miss.' 

'Do  you  see  a  policeman?' 

'No,  miss.' 

'Well,  stop  a  moment,'  for  even  at  this  slowest  gait  the  brougham 
had  passed  the  storm  centre. 

The  lady  hanging  out  of  the  window  looked  back  and  saw  that 
Ernestine's  face,  very  pink  as  to  cheeks,  very  bright  as  to  eyes,  was 
turned  quite  unruffled  on  the  rabble. 

'Can't  you  see  the  meeting's  over?'  she  called  out.  'You  boys 
go  home  now  and  think  about  what  we've  told  you.' 

The  reply  to  that  was  a  Lr.igh  and  a  concerted  'rush'  that  all 


1 66  THE   CONVERT 

but  carried  the  girl  and  her  companions  off  their  feet.  To  Hen 
derson's  petrifaction,  the  door  of  the  brougham  was  hastily  opened 
and  then  slammed  to,  leaving  Miss  Levering  in  the  road,  saying 
to  him  over  her  shoulder  — 

'Wait  just  round  the  corner,  unless  I  call.' 

With  which  she  hurried  across  the  street,  her  eyes  on  the  little 
face  that,  in  spite  of  its  fresh  colouring,  looked  so  pathetically  tired. 
Making  her  way  round  the  outer  fringe  of  the  crowd,  Vida  saw  on 
the  other  side  —  near  where  Ernestine  and  her  sore-beset  com 
panions  stood  with  their  backs  to  the  wall  —  an  opening  in  the 
dingy  ranks.  Fleet  of  foot,  she  gained  it,  thrust  an  arm  between 
the  huddled  women,  and,  taking  the  foolhardy  girl  by  the  sleeve, 
said,  sotto  voce  — 

'  Come  !     Come  with  me  ! ' 

Ernestine  raised  her  eyes,  fixed  them  for  one  calm  instant  on 
Vida  Levering's  face,  and  then,  turning  round,  said  — 

'Where's  Mrs.  Brown?' 

'Never  mind  Mrs.  Brown!'  whispered  the  strange  lady,  draw 
ing  off  as  the  rowdy  young  men  came  surging  round  that  side. 

There  was  another  rush  and  a  yell,  and  Vida  fled.  When  next 
she  turned  to  look,  it  was  to  see  two  women  making  a  sudden 
dash  for  liberty.  They  had  escaped  through  the  rowdy  ranks, 
and  they  tore  across  the  street,  running  for  their  lives  and  calling 
for  help  as  they  ran. 

Vida,  a  shade  or  two  paler,  stood  transfixed.  What  was  going 
to  happen?  But  there  was  the  imperturbable  Ernestine  holding 
the  forsaken  position,  still  the  centre  of  the  pushing,  shouting  little 
mob  who  had  jeered  frantically  as  the  other  women  fled. 

It  was  too  much.  Not  Ernestine's  isolation  alone,  the  something 
childish  in  the  brilliant  face  would  have  enlisted  a  less  sympathetic 
observer.  A  single  moment's  wavering  and  the  lady  made  for 
the  place  where  the  besiegers  massed  less  thick.  She  was  near 
enough  now  to  call  out  over  the  rowdies'  heads  — 

'Come.     Why  do  you  stay  there?' 

Faces  turned  to  look  at  her;  while  Ernestine  shouted  back  the 
cryptic  sentence  — 

'It  wasn't  my  bus!' 

Bus  ?  Had  danger  robbed  her  of  her  reason  ?  The  boys  were 
cheering  now  and  looking  past  Miss  Levering:  she  turned,  be- 


THE   CONVERT  167 

wildered,  to  see  'Mrs.  Brown'  and  a  sister  reformer  mounting  the 
top  of  a  sober  London  Road  car.  They  had  been  running  for  that, 
then  —  and  not  for  life  !  Miss  Levering  raised  her  hand  and  her 
voice  as  she  looked  back  at  Ernestine  — 

'  I've  got  a  trap.     Come  ! ' 

'Where?' 

Ernestine  stepped  out  from  the  vociferating,  jostling  crowd  and 
followed  the  new  face  as  simply  as  though  she  had  been  waiting 
for  just  that  summons.  The  awful  moment  was  when,  with  a 
shout,  the  tail  of  rowdies  followed  after.  Miss  Levering  had  not 
bargained  for  that.  Her  agitated  glance  left  the  unsavoury  horde 
at  her  heels  and  went  nervously  up  and  down  the  street.  It  was 
plainly  not  only,  nor  even  chiefly,  the  hooligans  she  feared,  but  the 
amazed  eye  of  some  acquaintance.  Bad  enough  to  meet  Hender 
son's  ! 

'Jump  in !'  she  said  hastily  to  the  girl,  and  then,  'Go  on  !'  she 
called  out  desperately,  flying  in  after  Ernestine  and  slamming  the 
door.  ' Drive  fasti1  She  thrust  her  head  through  the  window 
to  add,  'Anywhere!'  And  she  sank  back.  'How  dreadful  that 
was!' 

'What  was?'  said  the  rescued  one,  glancing  out  of  the  carriage 
with  an  air  of  suddenly  renewed  interest. 

'  Why,  the  attack  of  those  hooligans  on  a  handful  of  defenceless 
•women.' 

'Oh,  they  weren't  attacking  us.' 

'  What  were  they  doing  ? ' 

'Oh,  just  running  after  us  and  screaming  a  little.' 

'But  I  saw  them  —  pushing  and  jostling  and ' 

'Oh,  it  was  all  quite  good-natured.' 

'You  mean  you  weren't  frightened?' 

'There's  nothing  to  be  frightened  at.'  She  was  actually  saying 
it  in  a  soothing,  'motherly'  sort  of  way,  calculated  to  steady  the 
lady's  nerves  —  reassuring  the  rescuer. 

Vida's  eye  fell  on  the  festoon  of  braid  falling  from  the  dark  cloth 
skirt. 

'Well,  the  polite  attentions  of  your  friends  seem  to  have  rather 
damaged  your  gown.' 

Over  a  big  leather  portfolio  that  she  held  clasped  in  her  arms, 
Ernestine,  too,  looked  down  at  the  torn  frock. 


i68  THE   CONVERT 

'That  foolish  trimming  —  it's  always  getting  stepped  on.' 

Miss  Levering's  search  had  produced  a  pin. 

'No;  I'll  just  pull  it  off.' 

Ernestine  did  so,  and  proceeded  to  drop  a  yard  of  it  out  of  the 
window.  Miss  Levering  began  to  laugh. 

'Which  way  are  we  going?'  says  Miss  Blunt,  looking  out. 
'  I  have  to  be  at  Battersea  at ' 

'  What  were  you  doing  at  Pimlico  Pier  ? ' 

'Holding  a  meeting  for  the  Government  employees  —  the 
people  who  work  for  the  Army  and  Navy  Clothing  Department.' 

'Oh.     And  you  live  at  Battersea?' 

'No;  but  I  have  a  meeting  there  to-night.  We  had  a  very  good 
one  at  the  Docks,  too.'  Her  eyes  sparkled. 

'A  Suffrage  meeting?' 

'Yes;   one  of  the  best  we've  had ' 

'When  was  that?' 

'During  the  dinner  hour.  The  men  stood  with  their  pails  and 
ate  while  they  listened.  They  were  quite  nice  and  understanding, 
those  men.' 

'What  day  was  that?' 

'This  morning.' 

'And  the  Battersea  meeting?' 

'  That's  not  for  another  hour ;  but  I  have  to  be  there  first  — 
to  arrange.' 

'When  do  you  dine?' 

'  Oh,  I'll  get  something  either  before  the  meeting  or  after  — 
whenever  there's  time.' 

'Isn't  it  a  pity  not  to  get  your  food  regularly?  Won't  you  last 
longer  if  you  do  ? ' 

'Oh,  I  shall  last.'  She  sat  contentedly,  hugging  her  big  port 
folio. 

The  lady  glanced  at  the  carriage  clock.  '  In  the  house  where  I 
live,  dinner  is  a  sort  of  sacred  rite.  If  you  are  two  seconds  late 
you  are  disgraced,  so  I'm  afraid  I  can't ' 

'There's  the  bus  I  was  waiting  for  !'  Ernestine  thrust  her  head 
out.  'Stop,  will  you!'  she  commanded  the  astonished  Hender 
son.  'Good-bye.'  She  nodded,  jumped  out,  shut  the  door, 
steadied  her  hat,  and  was  gone. 

It  was  so  an  acquaintance  began  that  was  destined  to  make  a 


THE   CONVERT  169 

difference  to  more  than  one  life.  Those  days  of  the  summer  that 
Miss  Claxton  spent  indoctrinating  the  women  of  Wales,  and  that 
Mrs.  Chisholm  utilized  in  'organizing  Scotland,'  were  dedicated 
by  Ernestine  and  her  friends  to  stirring  up  London  and  the  various 
dim  and  populous  worlds  of  the  suburbs. 

Much  oftener  than  even  Mrs.  Fox-Moore  knew,  her  sister,  in 
stead  of  being  in  the  houses  where  she  was  supposed  to  be,  and 
doing  the  things  she  was  expected  to  be  doing,  might  have  been  seen 
in  highly  unexpected  haunts  prosecuting  her  acquaintance  with 
cockney  crowds,  never  learning  Ernestine's  fearlessness  of  them, 
and  yet  in  some  way  fascinated  almost  as  much  as  she  was  repelled. 
At  first  she  would  sit  in  a  hansom  at  safe  distance  from  the  tur 
moil  that  was  usually  created  by  the  expounders  of  what  to  the 
populace  was  a  'rum  new  doctrine'  invented  by  Ernestine.  Miss 
Levering  would  lean  over  the  apron  of  the  cab  hearing  only  scraps, 
till  the  final,  'Now,  all  who  are  in  favour  of  Justice,  hold  up  their 
hands.'  As  the  crowd  broke  and  dissolved,  the  lady  in  the  han 
som  would  throw  open  the  doors,  and  standing  up  in  front  of  the 
dashboard,  she  would  hail  and  carry  off  the  arch-agitator,  while  the 
crowd  surged  round.  Several  times  this  programme  had  been 
carried  out,  when  one  afternoon,  after  seeing  the  girl  and  her  big 
leather  portfolio  safe  in  the  cab,  and  the  cab  safe  out  of  the  crowd, 
Vida  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

'  There  I  Now  tell  me,  what  did  you  do  yesterday  ? '  —  meaning, 
How  in  the  world  did  you  manage  without  me  to  take  care  of  you  ? 

'  Yesterday  ?  We  had  a  meeting  down  at  the  Woolwich  Arsenal. 
And  we  distributed  handbills  for  two  hours.  And  we  had  a  debate 
in  the  evening  at  the  New  Reform  Club.' 

'Oh,  you  didn't  hold  a  meeting  here  in  the  afternoon ? ' 

'Yes  we  did.  I  forgot  that.'  She  seemed  also  to  have  forgotten 
that  her  new  friend  had  been  prevented  from  appearing  to  carry 
her  off. 

Miss  Levering  smiled  down  at  her.  '  What  a  funny  little  person 
you  are.  Do  you  know  who  I  am?' 

'No.' 

'  It  hasn't  ever  occurred  to  you  to  ask  ?' 

The  face  turned  to  her  with  a  half  roguish  smile.  'Oh,  I 
thought  you  looked  all  right.' 

'I'm  the  person  who  had  the  interview  with  your  friend,  Miss 


170  THE  CONVERT 

Claxton.'  As  no  recollection  showed  in  the  face,  'At  Queen 
Anne's  Gate,'  she  added. 

'I  don't  think  I  knew  about  that,'  said  Ernestine,  absently. 
Then  alert,  disdainful,  'Fancy  the  member  for  Wrotton  saying 
• Yes,  we  went  to  see  him  this  morning.' 

'  Oh,  that  is  very  exciting !     What  was  he  like  ? ' 

'Quite  a  feeble  sort  of  person,  I  thought.' 

'  Really ! '  laughed  Miss  Levering. 

'He  talked  such  nonsense  to  us  about  that  old  Plural  Voting 
Bill.  His  idea  seemed  to  be  to  get  us  to  promise  to  behave  nicely 
while  the  overworked  House  of  Commons  considered  the  iniquity 
of  some  men  having  more  than  one  vote  —  they  hadn't  a  minute 
this  session  to  consider  the  much  greater  iniquity  of  no  women 
having  any  vote  at  all !  Of  course  he  said  he  had  been  a  great 
friend  to  Woman  Suffrage,  until  he  got  shocked  with  our  tactics.' 
She  smiled  broadly.  'We  asked  him  what  he'd  ever  done  to  show 
his  friendship.' 

'Well?' 

'He  didn't  seem  to  know  the  answer  to  that.  What  strikes 
me  most  about  men  is  their  being  so  illogical.' 


Lady  John  Ulland  had  been  openly  surprised,  even  enthu 
siastically  grateful,  at  discovering  before  this  that  Vida  Levering 
was  ready  to  help  her  with  some  of  the  unornamental  duties  that 
fall  to  the  lot  of  the  'great  ladies'  of  England. 

'  I  don't  know  what  that  discontented  creature,  her  sister,  means 
by  saying  Vida  is  so  unsympathetic  about  charity  work.' 

Neither  could  Lady  John's  neighbour,  the  Bishop,  understand 
Mrs.  Fox-Moore's  reproach.  Had  not  his  young  kinswoman's 
charity  concerts  helped  to  rebuild  the  chantry? 

'Such  a  nice  creature /'  was  Lord  John's  contribution.  Then, 
showing  the  profundity  of  his  friendly  interest,  'Why  doesn't 
she  find  some  nice  fella  to  marry  her  ? ' 

'  People  don't  marry  so  early  nowadays,'  his  wife  reassured  him. 

Lord  Borrodaile,  to  whom  Vida  still  talked  freely,  he  alone 
had  some  understanding  of  the  changed  face  life  was  coming  to 
wear  for  her.  When  he  found  that  laughing  at  her  failed  of  the 
desired  effect,  he  offered  touching  testimony  to  his  affection  for 


THE   CONVERT  171 

her  by  trying  to  understand.  It  was  no  small  thing  for  a  man  like 
Borrodaile,  who,  for  the  rest,  found  it  no  easier  than  others  of  his 
class  rightly  to  interpret  the  modern  scene  as  looked  down  upon 
from  the  narrow  lancet  of  the  mediaeval  tower  which  was  his 
mind. 

When  she  got  him  to  smile  at  her  report  of  the  humours  of  the 
populace,  he  did  so  against  his  will,  shaking  his  long  Van  Dyke 
head,  and  saying  — 

'  It  spoils  the  fun  for  me  to  think  of  your  being  there.  I  have 
a  quite  unconquerable  distrust  of  eccentricity.' 

*  There's  nothing  the  least  original  about  my  mixing  with  "The 
People,"  as  my  sister  would  call  them.  The  women  of  my  world 
would  often  go  slumming.  The  only  difference  between  me  and 
them  may  be  that  I,  perhaps,  shall  go  a  little  farther,  that's  all.' 

'Well,  I  devoutly  hope  you  won't!'  he  said,  with  unusual  em 
phasis.  '  Let  the  proletariat  attend  to  the  affairs  of  the  proletariat. 
They  don't  need  a  woman  like  you.' 

'They  not  only  need  —  what's  more,  they  are  getting,  all  kinds  ! 
It's  that,  more  than  anything  else,  that  shows  their  strength.  The 
miracle  it  is,  to  see  the  way  they  all  work  together !  Women,  the 
poorest  and  most  ignorant  (except  of  hardship) ,  working  shoulder 
to  shoulder  with  women  of  substance  and  position.  Oh,  yes,  they 
are  winning  over  that  sort,  teachers  and  university  graduates  — 
a  whole  group  who  would  be  called  Intellectuals  if  they  were  men 
—  all  doing  what  men  have  said  women  could  never  do  —  pulling 
together.  And,  oh  !  that  reminds  me,'  she  said  suddenly,  smiling 
as  one  who  has  thought  of  a  capital  joke  at  her  companion's  ex 
pense  :  'it's  my  duty  to  warn  you.  I  went  with  your  daughter  to 
lunch  at  her  Country  Club,  and  they  were  all  discussing  the  Suf 
frage  !  A  good  dozen !  And  Sophia  —  well,  Sophia  came  out 
in  a  new  light.  I  want  you,  please,  to  believe  I've  never  talked  to 
her.' 

'Oh,'  said  Borrodaile,  with  an  unconscious  arrogance,  'Sophia 
doesn't  wait  to  be  talked  to.  She  takes  her  own  line.  Politics 
are  a  tradition  with  our  women.  I  found  her  reading  the  par 
liamentary  debates  when  she  was  fourteen.' 

'And  your  boys,  are  they  equally—  —  ?' 

He  sighed.  'The  world  has  got  very  topsy-turvy.  All  my  girls 
are  boys  —  and  all  my  boys  are  girls.' 


1 72  THE  CONVERT 

*  Well,  Sophia  can  take  care  of  the  Country  Club  !  I  remember 
how  we  scoffed  when  she  organized  it.' 

1  It's  had  precisely  the  effect  I  expected.  Takes  her  away  from 
her  own  home,  where  she  ought  to  be ' 

'Who  wants  her  at  home?' 

Unblushingly  he  answered,  '/do.' 

'Why,  you're  never  there  yourself.'  He  blinked.  'When  you 
aren't  in  your  garden  you're ' 

'Here?'   he  laughed. 


'I  don't  myself,'  she  went  on,  '/  don't  belong  to  any  clubs ' 

'  I  should  hope  not,  indeed  !  Where  should  I  go  for  tea  and  for 
news  of  the  workings  of  the  Zeitgeist  ? '  he  mocked. 

'But  I  begin  to  see  what  women's  clubs  are  for.' 

'  They're  for  the  dowdy,  unattached  females  to  meet  and  gossip 
in,  to  hold  feeble  little  debates  in,  to  listen  to  pettifogging  little 
lectures,  and  imagine  they're  dans  le  mouvement.1 

'They  are  to  accustom  women  to  thinking  and  acting  together. 
While  you  and  I  have  been  laughing  at  them,  they've  been  build 
ing  up  a  huge  machinery  of  organization,  ready  to  the  hand  of  the 
chief  engineer  who  is  to  come.' 

'Horrible  thought!' 

'Well,  horrible  or  not,  I  don't  despise  clubs  any  more.  They're 
largely  responsible  for  the  new  corporate  spirit  among  women.' 

He  pulled  himself  out  of  the  cavernous  comfort  of  his  chair, 
and  stood  glooming  in  front  of  the  screen  that  hid  the  fireless  grate. 

'Clubs,  societies,  leagues,  they're  all  devices  for  robbing  people 
of  their  freedom.  It's  no  use  to  talk  to  me.  I'm  one  of  the  few 
individualists  left  in  the  world.  I  never  wanted  in  my  life  to  belong 
to  any  body.'  Her  pealing  laughter  made  him  explain,  smiling, 
'To  any  corporation,  was  what  I  meant.' 

'No,  no.  You  got  it  right  the  first  time!  The  reason  that,  in 
spite  of  my  late  perversities,  you  don't  cast  me  off  is  because  I'm 
one  of  the  few  women  who  don't  make  claims.' 

'  It  is  the  claim  of  the  community  that  I  resent.  I  want  to  keep 
clear  of  all  complication.  I  want  to  be  really  free.  I  could  never 
have  pledged  myself  to  any  Church  or  any  party.' 

'Perhaps'  —  she  smiled  at  him —  'perhaps  that's  why  you  are 
a  beautiful  and  ineffectual  angel.' 

'  The  reason  I  never  did  is  because  I  care  about  liberty  —  the 


THE   CONVERT  173 

thing  itself.  You  are  in  danger,  I  see,  of  being  enamoured  of  the 
name.  In  thought  women  are  always  half  a  century  or  so  behind. 
What  patriot's  voice  is  heard  in  Europe  or  America  to-day? 
Where  is  the  modern  Kossuth,  Garibaldi?  What  poet  goes  out 
in  these  times  to  die  at  Missolonghi?  Just  as  men  are  rinding 
out  the  vanity  of  the  old  dreams,  the  women  seem  to  be  seizing 
on  them.  The  mass  of  intelligent  men  have  no  longing  for  political 
power.  If  a  sort  of  public  prominence  is  thrust  on  men '  —  he 
shrugged  as  if  his  shoulders  chafed  under  some  burden  —  '  in 
their  hearts  they  curse  their  lot.  I  suppose  it's  all  so  new  to  the 
woman  she  is  amused.  She  even  —  I'm  told'  —  his  lifted  hand, 
with  the  closed  fingers  suddenly  flung  open,  advertised  the  diffi 
culty  a  sane  person  found  in  crediting  the  uncanny  rumour  —  '  I'm 
told  that  women  even  like  public  dinners.' 

'Well,  you  do.' 

'I?' 

'You  go  —  to  all  the  most  interesting  ones.' 

'Part  of  my  burden !  Unlike  your  new  friends,  there's  nothing 
I  hate  so  much,  unless  it  is  having  to  make  a  speech.' 

'Well,  now,  shall  I  stop  "playing  at  ma'ams"  and  just  say 
that  when  I  hear  a  man  like  you  explaining  in  that  superior  way 
how  immensely  he  doesn't  care,  I  seem  to  see  that  that  is  precisely 
the  worst  indictment  against  your  class.  If  special  privilege  breeds 
that ' 

It  merely  amused  him  to  see  that  she  was  forgetting  herself.  He 
sat  down  again.  He  stretched  out  his  long  legs  and  interlaced  his 
fingers  across  his  bulging  shirt  front.  His  air  of  delicate  mockery 
supplied  the  whip. 

'If,'  Vida  went  on  with  shining  eyes,  'if  to  be  able  to  care  and 
to  work  and  to  sacrifice,  if  to  get  those  impulses  out  of  life,  you  must 
carry  your  share  of  the  world's  burden,  then  no  intelligent  creature 

can  be  sorry  the  day  is  coming  when  all  men  will  have  to 

She  took  breath,  a  little  frightened  to  see  where  she  was  going. 

'  Have  to ? '   he  encouraged  her,  lazily  smiling. 

'Have  to  work,  or  else  not  eat.' 

'Even  under  your  hard  rule  I  wouldn't  have  to  work  much. 
My  appetite  is  mercifully  small.' 

'It  would  grow  if  you  sweated  for  your  bread.' 

'  Help !    help ! '  he  said,  not  above  his  usual  tone,  but  slowly 


174  THE   CONVERT 

he  turned  his  fine  head  as  the  door  opened.  He  fixed  the  amused 
grey-green  eyes  on  old  Mr.  Fox-Moore :  '  A  small  and  inoffensive 
pillar  of  the  Upper  House  is  in  the  act  of  being  abolished.' 

'  What,  is  she  talking  politics  ?  She  never  favours  me  with  her 
views,'  said  Fox-Moore,  with  his  chimpanzee  smile. 

When  Borrodaile  had  said  good-bye,  Vida  folio  wed  him  to  the  top 
of  the  stairs. 

'It's  rather  on  my  mind  that  I  —  I've  not  been  very  nice  to  you.' 

'" I  would  not  hear  thine  enemy  say  so."' 

'Yes,  I've  been  rather  horrid.  I  went  and  Trafalgar-Squared 
you,  when  I  ought  to  have  amused  you.' 

'  But  you  have  amused  me  ! '     His  eyes  shone  mischievously. 

'Oh,  very  well.'  She  took  the  gibe  in  good  part,  offering  her 
hand  again. 

'  Good-bye,  my  dear,'  he  said  gently.  'It's  great  fun  having  you 
in  the  world  ! '  He  spoke  as  though  he  had  personally  arranged  this 
provision  against  dulness  for  his  latter  end. 

The  next  evening  he  came  up  to  her  at  a  party  to  ask  why  she 
had  absented  herself  from  a  dinner  the  night  before  where  he  ex 
pected  to  find  her. 

'Oh,  I  telephoned  in  the  morning  they  weren't  to  expect  me.' 

'What  were  you  doing,  I  should  like  to  know?' 

'No,  you  wouldn't  like  to  know.  But  you  couldn't  have  helped 
laughing  if  you'd  seen  me.' 

'Where?' 

'Wandering  about  the  purlieus  of  Battersea.' 

'Bless  me!    Who  with?' 

'Why,  with  that  notorious  Suffragette,  Miss  Ernestine  Blunt. 
Oh,  you'd  have  stared  even  harder  if  you'd  seen  us,  I  promise 
you !  She  with  a  leather  portfolio  under  one  arm  —  a  most 
business-like  apparatus,  and  a  dinner-bell  in  one  hand.' 

'  A  dinner  bell ! '  He  put  his  hand  to  his  brow  as  one  who  feels 
reason  reeling. 

'Yes,  holding  fast  to  the  clapper  so  that  we  shouldn't  affright 
the  isle  out  of  season.  I,  if  you  please,  carrying  an  armful  of 
propagandist  literature.' 

'  Good  Lord  !     Where  do  you  say  these  orgies  take  place  ? ' 

'Near  the  Fire  Station  on  the  far  side  of  Battersea  Park.' 


THE   CONVERT  175 

'I  think  you  are  in  great  need  of  somebody  to  look  after  you,' 
he  laughed,  but  no  one  who  knew  him  could  mistake  his  serious 
ness.  'Come  over  here.'  He  found  a  sofa  a  little  apart  from  the 
crush.  '  Who  goes  writh  you  on  these  raids  ? ' 

'  Why,  Ernestine  —  or  rather,  I  go  with  her.' 

'But  who  takes  care  of  you?' 

'Ernestine.' 

'Who  knows  you're  doing  this  kind  of  thing?' 

'Ernestine  —  and  you.     It's  a  secret.' 

'Well,  if  I'm  the  only  sane  person  who  knows  —  it's  something 
of  a  responsibility.' 

'I  won't  tell  you  about  it  if  it  oppresses  you.' 

'On  the  contrary,  I  insist  on  your  telling  me.' 

Vida  smiled  reflectively.  'The  mode  of  procedure  strikes  one 
as  highly  original.  It  is  simple  beyond  anything  in  the  world. 
They  select  an  open  space  at  the  convergence  of  several  thorough 
fares  —  if  possible,  near  an  omnibus  centre.  For  these  smaller 
meetings  they  don't  go  to  the  length  of  hiring  a  lorry.  Do  you 
know  what  a  lorry  is  ? ' 

'I  regret  to  say  my  education  in  that  direction  leaves  something 
to  be  desired.' 

'Last  week  I  was  equally  ignorant.  To-day  I  can  tell  you  all 
about  it.  A  lorry  is  a  cart  or  a  big  van  with  the  top  off.  But 
such  elegancies  are  for  the  parks.  In  Battersea,  you  go  into  some 
modest  little  restaurant,  and  you  say,  "Will  you  lend  me  a  chair?" 
This  is  a  surprise  for  the  Battersea  restaurateur.' 

'  Naturally  —  poor  man  ! ' 

'Exactly.  He  refuses.  But  he  also  asks  questions.  He 
is  amazed.  He  is  against  the  franchise  for  women.  "You'll 
never  get  the  vote  I "  "Well, we  must  have  something,"  says  Ernes 
tine.  "I'm  sure  it  isn't  against  your  principles  to  lend  a  woman 
a  chair."  She  lays  hands  on  one.  "I  never  said  you  could  have 
one  of  my  —  "But  you  meant  to,  didn't  you?  Isn't  a  chair 

one  of  the  things  men  have  always  been  ready  to  offer  us  ?  Thank 
you.  I'll  take  good  care  of  it  and  bring  it  back  quite  safe."  Out 
marches  Ernestine  with  the  enemy's  property.  She  carries  the  chair 
into  the  road  and  plants  it  in  front  of  the  Fire  Station.  Usually 
there  are  two  or  three  "helpers."  Sometimes  Ernestine,  if  you 
please,  carries  the  meeting  entirely  en  her  own  shoulders  —  those 


i76  THE   CONVERT 

same  shoulders  being  about  so  wide.  Yes,  she's  quite  a  little 
thing.  If  there  are  helpers  she  sends  them  up  and  down  the  street 
sowing  a  fresh  crop  of  handbills.  When  Ernestine  is  ready  to  be 
gin  she  stands  up  on  that  chair,  in  the  open  street  and,  as  if  she 
were  doing  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  she  begins  ringing 
that  dinner  bell.  Naturally  people  stop  and  stare  and  draw  nearer. 
Ernestine  tells  me  that  Battersea  has  got  so  used  now  to  the  ding- 
dong  and  to  associating  it  with  "our  meeting,"  that  as  far  off  as 
they  hear  it  the  inhabitants  say,  "It's  the  Suffragettes!  Come 
along ! "  and  from  one  street  and  another  the  people  emerge  laugh 
ing  and  running.  Of  course  as  soon  as  there  is  a  little  crowd  that 
attracts  more,  and  so  the  snowball  grows.  Sometimes  the  traffic 
is  impeded.  Oh,  it's  a  much  odder  world  than  I  had  suspected !' 
For  a  moment  laughter  interrupted  the  narrative.  "'The  Salva 
tion  Army  doesn't  quite  approve  of  us,"  Ernestine  says,  "and  the 
Socialists  don't  love  us  either!  We  always  take  their  audiences 
away  from  them — poor  things,"  says  Ernestine,  with  a  sympathetic 
air.  "  You  do  !"  I  say,  because'  —  Vida  nodded  at  Lord  Borro- 
daile  —  'you  must  know  Ernestine  is  a  beguiler.' 

'  Oh,  a  beguiler.     I  didn't  suppose ' 

'No,  it's  against  the  tradition,  I  know,  but  it's  true.  She  her 
self,  however,  doesn't  seem  to  realize  her  beguilingness.  "It 
isn't  any  one  in  particular  they  come  to  hear,"  she  says,  "it's 
just  that  a  woman  making  a  speech  is  so  much  more  interesting 
than  a  man  making  a  speech."  It  surprises  you  ?  So  it  did  me.' 

1  Nothing  surprises  me ! '  said  Borrodaile,  with  a  wave  of  his  long 
hands. 

'Last  night  she  was  wonderful,  our  Ernestine!  Even  I,  who 
am  used  to  her,  I  was  stirred.  I  was  even  thrilled.  She  had  that 
crowd  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand !  When  she  wound  up,  "The  mo 
tion  is  carried.  The  meeting  is  over!"  and  climbed  down  off 
her  perch,  the  mob  cheered  and  pressed  round  her  so  close  that 
I  had  to  give  up  trying  to  join  her.  I  extricated  myself  and  crossed 
the  street.  She  is  so  little  that,  unless  she's  on  a  chair,  she  is 
swallowed  up.  For  a  long  time  I  couldn't  see  her.  I  didn't  know 
whether  she  was  taking  the  names  and  addresses  of  the  people 
who  want  to  join  the  Union,  or  whether  she  had  slipped  away 
and  gone  home,  till  I  saw  practically  the  whole  crowd  moving  off 
after  her  up  the  street.  I  followed  for  some  distance  on  the  off- 


THE   CONVERT  177 

side.  She  went  calmly  on  her  way,  a  tiny  figure  in  a  long  grey 
coat  between  two  helpers,  the  Lancashire  cotton-spinner  and  the 
Cockney  working  woman,  with  that  immense  tail  of  boys  and  men 
(and  a  few  women)  all  following  after  —  quite  quiet  and  well- 
behaved  —  just  following,  because  it  didn't  occur  to  them  to  do 
anything  else.  In  a  way  she  was  still  exercising  her  hold  over  her 
meeting.  I  saw,  presently,  there  was  one  person  in  front  of  her 
—  a  great  big  fellow  —  he  looked  like  a  carter  —  he  was  carrying 
home  the  chair ! ' 

They  both  laughed. 

'Well,  she's  found  a  thick-and-thin  advocate  in  you  apparently,' 
said  Borrodaile. 

'Ah!  if  only  you  could  see  her!  trudging  along,  apparently 
quite  oblivious  of  her  quaint  following,  dinner  bell  in  one  hand, 
leather  case  piled  high  with  "tracts"  on  the  other  arm,  some  of  the 
leaflets  sliding  off,  tumbling  on  to  the  pavement.'  Vida  laughed 
as  she  recalled  the  scene.  'Then  dozens  of  hands  darting  out  to 
help  her  to  recover  her  precious  property !  After  the  chair  had 
been  returned  the  crowd  thinned,  and  I  crossed  over  to  her.' 

'You  in  that  melee /'  Borrodaile  ejaculated.  'Well,  Ernestine 
hadn't  the  quaintness  all  to  herself.' 

'No.  Oh,  no,'  Vida  agreed.  'I  thought  of  you,  and  how  you'd 
look  if  you  had  come  on  us  suddenly.  After  the  crowd  had  melted 
and  the  helpers  had  vanished  into  the  night,  we  went  on  together  — 
all  the  way,  from  the  Battersea  Fire  Station  to  Sloane  Square, 
did  Ernestine  and  I  walk,  talking  reform  last  night.  You  laugh  ? 
So  do  I;  but  not  at  Ernestine.  She's  a  most  wonderful  person. 
I  sometimes  ask  myself  if  the  world  will  ever  know  half  how 
wonderful.  You,  for  instance,  you  haven't,  after  all  I've  said,  you 
haven't  an  idea!' 

'  Oh,  I  don't  doubt  —  I  don't  think  I  ever  doubted  that  women 
have  a  facility  in  speech  —  no,  no,  I'm  not  gibing  !  I  don't  even 
doubt  they  can,  as  you  say,  sway  and  control  crowds.  But  I 
maintain  it  is  very  bad  for  the  women.' 

'How  is  it  bad?' 

'How  can  it  fail  to  be!     All  that  horrible  publicity.     All  that 

concentrating  of  crude  popular  interest  on  themselves !     Believe 

me,  nobody  who  watches  a  public  career  carefully  but  sees  the 

demoralizing  effect  the  limelight  has  even  on  men's  characters. 

N 


178  THE   CONVERT 

And  I  suppose  you'll  admit  that  men  are  less  delicately  organized 
than  women.' 

'I  can  only  say  I've  seen  the  sort  of  thing  you  mean  in  our 
world,  where  a  good  many  women  have  only  themselves  to  think 
about.  I've  looked  in  vain  for  those  evil  effects  among  the  Suf 
frage  women.  It  almost  seems,  on  the  contrary,  as  if  there  were 
something  ennobling  in  working  for  a  public  cause.' 

'  Personally,  I  can't  say  I've  observed  it  —  not  among  the  po 
litical  women  of  my  acquaintance  ! ' 

'But  you  only  know  the  old  kind.  Yes,  the  kind  whose  idea  of 
influence  is  to  make  men  fall  in  love  with  them,  whose  idea  of 
working  is  to  put  on  a  smart  gown  and  smile  their  prettiest.  No, 
I  agree  that  isn't  necessarily  ennobling ! ' 

'  I  see,  it's  the  new  taste  in  manners  and  the  new  arts  of  persua 
sion  that  make  the  ideal  women  and '  —  with  an  ironic  little  bow 
—  'the  impassioned  convert.' 

'I'm  bound  to  admit,'  she  said  stoutly,  'that  I  think  the  Suffrage 
movement  in  England  has  the  advantage  of  being  engineered  by 
a  very  remarkable  set  of  women.  Not  in  ability  alone,  but  in  dig 
nity  of  character.  People  will  never  know,  I  sometimes  think, 
how  much  the  movement  has  owed  to  being  taken  in  hand  by  just 
these  particular  women.  I  don't  pretend  they're  the  average. 
They're  very  far  above  the  average.  And  what  the  world  will 
owe  to  them  I  very  much  doubt  if  even  the  future  will  know. 
But  I  seem  to  be  the  only  one  who  minds.'  She  laughed.  ' I  could 
take  my  oath  they  never  give  the  matter  a  thought.  One  thing 

— '  She  leaned  forward  and  then  checked  herself.  'No,  I've 
talked  about  them  enough  ! ' 

She  opened  her  fan  and  looked  about  the  crowded  room. 

'Say  what  you  were  going  to.  I'm  reconciled.  I  see  what's 
coming.' 

'What's  coming?' 

'Yes.     Goon.' 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  perplexed  over  the  top  of  her  fan. 

'I  was  only  going  to  say  that  what  struck  me  particularly  in 
that  girl,  for  instance,  is  her  inaccessibility  to  flattery.  I've  watched 
her  with  men.' 

'  Of  course  !  She  knew  you  were  watching  her.  She  no  doubt 
thinks  the  eyes  of  the  world  are  upon  her.' 


THE   CONVERT  179 

'On  the  contrary,  it's  her  unself consciousness  that's  the  most 
surprising  thing  about  her.  Or,  no !  It's  something  more  inter 
esting  even  than  that.  She  is  conscious,  in  a  way,  of  the  hold  she 
has  on  the  public.  But  it  hasn't  any  of  the  deteriorating  effect 
you  were  deprecating.  I've  been  moved  once  or  twice  to  congratu 
late  her.  She  takes  it  as  unmoved  as  a  child.  It's  just  as  if  you 
said  to  a  little  thing  of  three,  "What  a  clever  baby  you  are !"  or, 
" You've  got  the  most  beautiful  eyes  in  the  world."  The  child 
would  realize  that  you  meant  well,  that  you  were  being  pleasant, 
but  it  wouldn't  think  about  either  its  cleverness  or  its  eyes.  It's 
like  that  with  Ernestine.  When  I  said  to  her,  "You  made  an  as- 
toundingly  good  speech  to-night.  The  best  I've  heard  even  you 
make,"  she  looked  at  me  with  a  sort  of  half-absent-minded,  half- 
wondering  expression,  without  a  glimmer  of  personal  vanity. 
When  I  was  so  ill-advised  as  not  to  drop  the  subject,  when  I  ven 
tured  to  say  something  more  about  that  great  gift  of  hers,  she  in 
terrupted  me  with  a  little  laugh,  "It's  a  sign  of  grace  in  you  not  to 
get  tired  of  our  speeches,"  she  said.  "I  suppose  we  repeat  our 
selves  a  good  deal.  You  see  that's  just  what  we've  got  to  do. 
We've  got  to  hammer  it  in."  But  the  fact  is  that  she  doesn't 
repeat  herself,  that  she's  always  fresh  and  stimulating,  because  — 
I  suppose  it's  because  she's  always  thinking  of  the  Great  Imper 
sonal  Object,  and  talking  about  it  out  of  her  own  eager  heart. 
Ernestine  ?  She's  as  unhackneyed  as  a  spring  morning ! ' 

'  Oh,  very  well.     I'll  go.' 

'  Go  ?    Where  ? '  for  he  still  sat  there. 

'Why,  to  hear  your  paragon.  I've  seen  that  was  what  you  were 
leading  up  to.' 

'N  —  no.     I  don't  think  I  want  you  to  go.' 

1  Oh,  yes,  you  do.     I  knew  you'd  make  me  sooner  or  later.' 

'No,  don't  be  afraid.'     She  stood  up. 

'I'm  not  afraid.     I'm  eager,'  he  laughed. 

She  shook  her  head.     'No,  I'll  never  take  you.' 

'Why  not?' 

'Because  — it  isn't  all  Ernestine  and  skittles.  And  because 
you'd  make  me  keenly  alive  again  to  all  sorts  of  things  that  I  see 
now  don't  matter  —  things  that  have  lost  some  of  their  power  to 
trouble  me,  but  that  I  should  feel  for  you.' 

'What  sort  of ' 


i8o  THE  CONVERT 

'  Oh,  oddities,  uglinesses  —  things  that  abound,  I'm  told,  at  all 
men's  meetings,  and  that  yet,  somehow,  we'd  like  to  eliminate 
from  women's  quite  on  the  old  angel  theory.  No,  I  won't  take 
youT 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  following  afternoon,  at  half -past  five,  the  carelessly  dressed, 
rather  slouching  figure  of  Lord  Borrodaile  might  have  been  seen  walk 
ing  along  the  Thames  Embankment  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Pim- 
lico  Pier.  He  passed  without  seeing  the  only  other  person  visible  at 
that  quiet  hour  —  one  of  the  '  unemployed,'  like  himself,  but  save 
in  that  respect  sufficiently  unlike  the  Earl  of  Borrodaile  was  the 
grimy,  unshaven  tramp  collapsed  in  one  corner  of  the  double- 
seated  municipal  bench.  Lord  Borrodaile's  fellow-citizen  leaned 
heavily  on  one  of  the  stout  scrolls  of  ironwork  which,  repeated  at 
regular  intervals  on  each  side,  divided  the  seat  into  six  compart 
ments.  No  call  for  any  one  to  notice  such  a  man  —  there  are  so 
many  of  them  in  these  piping  times  of  peace  and  prosperity. 
Then,  too,  they  go  crawling  about  our  world  protected  from  notice, 
as  the  creatures  are  who  take  their  colouring  from  bark  or  leaf  or 
arctic  snows.  So  these  other  forms  of  life,  weather-beaten,  smoke- 
begrimed,  subdued  to  the  hues  of  the  dusty  roads  they  travel,  and 
the  unswept  spaces  where  they  sleep  —  over  these  the  eye  glides 
unseeing. 

As  little  interested  in  the  gentleman  as  the  gentleman  was  in 
him,  the  wastrel  contemplated  the  river  with  grimly  speculative 
eye.  But  when  suddenly  Borrodaile's  sauntering  figure  came  to  a 
standstill  near  the  lower  end  of  the  bench,  the  tramp  turned  his 
head  and  watched  dully  the  gloveless  hands  cross  one  over  the  other 
on  the  knob  of  the  planted  umbrella;  the  bent  head;  one  hand 
raised  now,  groping  about  the  waistcoat,  lighting  upon  what  it 
sought  and  raising  a  pince-nez,  through  which  he  read  the  legend 
scrawled  in  chalk  upon  the  pavement.  With  a  faint  saturnine 
smile  Lord  Borrodaile  dropped  the  glass,  and  took  his  bearings. 
He  consulted  his  watch,  and  walked  on. 

Upon  his  return  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  he  viewed  the  same 
little-alluring  prospect  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  The 
tramp  still  stared  at  the  river,  but  on  his  side  of  the  bench,  at  the 
other  end,  sat  a  lady  reading  a  book.  Between  the  two  motionless 

181 


1 82  THE   CONVERT 

figures  and  the  parapet,  a  group  of  dirty  children  were  wrangling 
Lord  Borrodaile  crossed  the  wide  street  and  paused  a  moment  just 
behind  the  lady.  He  leaned  forward  as  if  to  speak  to  her  across 
the  middle  division  of  the  bench.  But  he  reconsidered,  and  turn 
ing  his  back  to  her,  sat  down  and  drew  an  evening  paper  out  of 
his  pocket.  He  was  so  little  like  that  glittering  figment,  the  peer 
of  popular  imagination,  that  the  careless  sobriety  of  dress  and  air 
in  the  person  of  this  third  occupant  of  the  capacious  double  bench 
struck  an  even  less  arresting  note  than  the  frank  wretchedness  of 
the  other  man. 

Presently  one  of  the  children  burst  out  crying,  and  continued  to 
howl  lustily  till  the  lady  looked  up  from  her  page  and  inquired 
what  was  the  matter.  The  unwashed  infant  stared  open-mouthed 
at  this  intruder  upon  her  grief.  Instead  of  answering,  she  regarded 
the  lady  with  a  bored  astonishment,  as  who  should  say :  What  are 
you  interrupting  me  for,  just  in  the  middle  of  a  good  yell?  She 
then  took  up  the  strain  as  nearly  as  possible  where  she  had  left  off. 
She  was  getting  on  very  well  with  this  second  attempt  at  a  demon 
stration  until  Miss  Levering  made  some  mention  of  a  penny,  where 
upon  the  infant  again  suspended  her  more  violent  manifestations, 
though  the  tears  kept  rolling  down. 

After  various  attempts  on  the  lady's  part,  the  little  girl  was 
induced  to  come  and  occupy  the  middle  place  on  the  river  side  of 
the  bench,  between  Vida  and  the  tramp.  While  the  lady  held  the 
penny  in  her  hand,  and  cross-examined  the  still  weeping  child, 
Borrodaile  sat  quietly  listening  behind  his  paper.  When  the  child 
couldn't  answer  those  questions  that  were  of  a  general  natuie,  the 
tramp  did,  and  the  three  were  presently  quite  a  pleasant  family 
party.  The  only  person  '  out  of  it '  was  the  petrified  gentleman  cri 
the  other  side. 

A  few  minutes  before  the  arrival  of  the  Suffragettes,  two  nonde 
script  young  men,  in  a  larky  mood,  appeared  with  the  announce 
ment  that  they'd  seen  '  one  of  them '  at  the  top  of  Ranelagh  Street. 

'That'll  be  the  Lctle  'un,'  said  the  tramp  to  nobody.  'You 
don't  ketch  'er  bein'  late ! ' 

'Blunt!  No  —  cheeky  little  devil,'  remarked  one  of  the  young 
men,  offering  a  new  light  upon  the  royal  virtue  of  punctuality; 
but  from  the  enthusiasm  with  which  they  availed  themselves  of  the 
rest  of  Lord  Borrodaile's  side  of  the  bench,  it  was  obvious  they  had 


THE   CONVERT  183 

hurried  to  the  spot  with  the  intention  of  securing  front  seats  at  the 
show. 

'Of  course  it  ain't  goin'  to  be  as  much  fun  as  the  'Yde  Park 
Sunday  aufternoons.  Jim  Wrightson  goes  to  them.  Keeps  things 
lively —  'e  does.' 

'Kicks  up  a  reg'lar  shindy,  don't  'e?' 

'Yes.  We  can't  do  nothin'  'ere  —  ain't  enough'  —  whether  of 
space  or  of  spirited  young  men  he  did  not  specify. 

As  they  lit  their  cigarettes  the  company  received  further  addi 
tions  —  one  obviously  otherwise  employed  than  with  politics. 
Her  progress  —  was  it  symbolic  ?  —  was  necessarily  slow,  for  a 
small  child  clung  to  her  skirt,  and  she  trundled  a  sickly  boy  in  a 
go-cart.  The  still  sniffling  person  in  possession  of  the  middle  seat 
on  the  other  side  (her  anxious  and  watery  eye  fixed  on  the  penny) 
was  told  by  Miss  Levering  to  make  room  for  the  new-comers. 
The  child's  way  of  doing  so  was  to  crowd  closer  to  the  neighbour 
hood  of  the  fascinating  coin.  But  that  mandate  to  'make  room' 
had  proved  a  conversational  opening  through  which  poured  —  or 
trickled  rather  —  the  mother's  sorry  little  history.  Her  husband 
was  employed  in  the  clothing  department  of  the  Army  and  Navy 
Stores  —  yes,  nine  years  now.  He  was  considered  very  lucky  to 
keep  his  place  when  the  staff  was  reduced.  But  the  costliness  of 
raising  the  children !  It  was  well  that  three  were  dead.  If  she 
had  it  all  to  do  over  again  —  no  !  no  ! 

The  seeming  heartlessness  with  which  she  envisaged  the  non- 
existence  of  her  babies  contrasted  strangely  with  her  patient  ten 
derness  to  the  querulous  boy  in  the  go-cart. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Levering  had  not  forgotten  her  earlier  acquaint 
ance.  As  the  wan  mother  watched  the  end  of  the  transaction 
which  left  the  sniffler  now  quite  consoled,  in  possession  of  the 
modest  coin,  she  said  naively  — 

'  When  anybody  gives  one  of  my  children  a  penny,  I  always  save 
half  of  it  for  them  the  next  day.' 

Vida  Levering  turned  her  head  away,  and  in  so  doing  met  Lord 
Borrodaile's  eyes  over  the  back  of  the  bench.  She  gave  a  faint 
start  of  surprise,  and  then  — 

'  She  saves  half  of  it ! '  was  all  she  said. 

Borrodaile,  glancing  shrewdly  over  the  further  augmented 
gathering,  asked  the  invariable  question  — 


184  THE   CONVERT 

'How  do  you  account  for  the  fact  that  so  few  women  are  here 
to  show  their  interest  in  a  matter  that's  supposed  to  concern  them 
so  much?'  Vida  craned  her  head.  'Beside  you,  only  one!' 
Borrodaile's  mocking  voice  went  on.  'Isn't  this  an  instance  of 
your  sex's  indifference  to  the  whole  thing?  Isn't  it  equally  an 
instance  of  man's  keenness  about  public  questions  ?'  He  couldn't 
forbear  adding  in  a  whisper, '  Even  such  a  question,  and  such  men  ? ' 

Vida  still  craned,  searching  in  vain  for  refutation  in  female  form. 
But  she  did  not  take  her  failure  lying  down. 

'The  men  who  are  here,'  she  said,  'the  great  majority  of  men  at 
all  open-air  meetings  seem  to  be  loafers.  Woman  —  whatever 
else  she  may  or  may  not  be  —  isn't  a  loafer!'  Through  Borro 
daile's  laugh  she  persisted.  'A  woman  always  seems  to  have 
something  to  do,  even  if  it's  of  the  silliest  description.  Yes,  and 
if  she's  a  decent  person  at  all,  she's  not  hanging  about  at  street 
corners  waiting  for  some  diversion  ! ' 

'  Not  bad ;  not  bad !  I  see  you  are  catching  the  truly  martial 
spirit.' 

'That's  them,  ain't  it?'     One  of  the  young  men  jumped  up. 

Vida  turned  her  head  in  time  to  see  the  meeting  between  two 
girls  and  a  woman  arriving  from  opposite  directions. 

'Yes,'  she  whispered;  'that's  Ernestine  with  the  pile  of  hand 
bills  on  her  arm.' 

The  lady  sent  out  smiles  and  signals  of  welcome  with  a  lifted 
hand.  The  busy  propagandist  took  no  notice.  She  was  talking 
to  her  two  companions,  one  of  whom,  the  younger  with  head  on 
one  side,  kept  shooting  out  glances  half  provocative,  half  appealing, 
towards  Lord  Borrodaile  and  the  young  men.  She  seemed  as 
keenly  alive  to  the  fact  of  these  male  presences  as  the  two  other 
women  seemed  oblivious. 

'Which  is  the  one,'  asked  Lord  Borrodaile,  'that  you  were  tell 
ing  me  about?' 

'  Why,  Ernestine  Blunt  —  the  pink-cheeked  one  in  the  long 
alpaca  coat.' 

'She  doesn't  look  so  very  devilish,'  he  laughed.  After  an  im 
patient  moment's  hope  that  devilishness  might  develop,  he  said, 
'She  hasn't  seen  you  yet.' 

'Oh,  yes,  she  has.' 

'Then  she  isn't  as  overjoyed  as  she  ought  to  be.' 


THE   CONVERT  185 

' She'd  be  surprised  to  know  she  was  expected  to  be  overjoyed.' 

'Why?    Aren't  you  very  good  to  her?' 

'No.  She's  been  rather  good  to  me,  though  she  doesn't  take 
very  much  stock  in  me.' 

'Why  doesn't  she?' 

'  Oh,  there  are  only  two  kinds  of  people  that  interest  Ernestine. 
Those  who'll  be  active  in  carrying  on  the  propaganda,  and  those 
who  have  yet  to  be  converted.' 

'Well,  I'm  disappointed,'  he  teased,  perceiving  how  keen  his 
friend  was  that  he  should  not  be.  'The  other  one  would  be  more 
likely  to  convert  me.' 

'  Oh,  you  only  say  that  because  the  other  one's  tall,  and  makes 
eyes  I'  Vida  denounced  him,  to  his  evident  diversion. 

Whatever  his  reasons  were,  the  young  men  seemed  to  share  his 
preference.  They  were  watching  the  languishing  young  woman, 
who  in  turn  kept  glancing  at  them.  Ernestine,  having  finished 
what  she  was  saying,  made  her  way  to  where  Miss  Levering  sat, 
not,  it  would  appear,  for  any  purpose  so  frivolous  as  saying  good 
evening,  but  to  deposit  what  were  left  of  the  handbills  and  the 
precious  portfolio  in  the  care  of  one  well  known  by  now  to  have  a 
motherly  oversight  of  such  properties. 

Lord  Borrodaile's  eyes  narrowed  with  amusement  as  he  watched 
the  hurried  pantomime. 

Instead  of  'Thank  you,'  as  Vida  meekly  accepted  the  incongru 
ous  and  by  no  means  light  burden:  'We  are  short  of  speakers,' 
said  Ernestine.  'You'll  help  us  out,  won't  you?'  As  though  it 
were  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world. 

Lord  Borrodaile  half  rose  in  protest. 

'No,'  said  Vida.     'I  won't  speak  till  I  have  something  to  say.' 

'I  should  have  thought  there  was  plenty  to  say!'  said  the  girl. 

'Yes,  for  you.  You  know  such  a  lot,'  smiled  her  new  friend. 
'I  must  get  some  first-hand  knowledge,  too,  before  I  try  to  stand 
up  and  speechify.' 

'It's  now  we  need  help.  By-and-by  there'll  be  plenty.  But 
I'm  not  going  to  worry  you,'  she  caught  herself  up.  Then,  con 
fidentially,  'We've  got  one  new  helper  that  we've  great  hopes  of. 
She  joined  to-day.' 

'Some  one  who  can  speak?' 

'Oh,  she'll  speak,  I  dare  say,  by  and  by.' 


i86  THE   CONVERT 

'What  does  she  do  in  the  meantime  —  to '  (to  account  for 

your  enthusiasm,  was  implied)  'to  show  she's  a  helper?  Sub 
scribes  ? ' 

'I  expect  she'll  subscribe,  too.  She  takes  such  an  interest. 
Plenty  of  courage,  too.' 

'How  do  you  know?' 

'Well'  —  the  voice  dropped —  'she's  all  right,  but  she  belongs 
to  rather  stodgy  people.  Bothers  about  respectability,  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  But  she  came  along  with  me  this  afternoon  dis 
tributing  handbills  all  over  the  City  for  two  hours!  Not  many 
women  of  her  kind  are  ready  to  do  that  the  first  thing.' 

'No,  I  dare  say  not,'  said  Vida,  humbly. 

'And  one  thing  I  thought  a  very  good  sign'  —  Ernestine  bent 
lower  in  her  enthusiasm  —  '  when  we  got  to  Finsbury  Circus  she 
said '  -  -  Ernestine  paused  as  if  struck  afresh  by  the  merits  of  the 
new  recruit —  'she  said,  "Give  me  a  piece  of  chalk!"' 

'  Chalk !    What  did  she  want  with ? ' 

Borrodaile,  too,  leaned  nearer. 

'She  saw  me  beginning  to  write  meeting  notices  on  the  stones. 
Of  course,  the  people  stopped  and  stared  and  laughed.  But  she, 
instead  of  getting  shy,  and  pretending  she  hadn't  anything  to  do 
with  me,  she  took  the  chalk  and  wrote,  "Votes  for  Women  1"  all 
over  the  pavement  of  Finsbury  Circus.'  Ernestine  paused  a 
moment  that  Miss  Levering  might  applaud  the  new  'helper.' 
'I  thought  that  a  very  good  sign  in  such  a  respectable  person.' 

'  Oh,  yes ;  a  most  encouraging  sign.  Is  it  the  one  in  mauve  who 
did  that?' 

'No,  that's  —  I  forget  her  name  —  oh,  Mrs.  Thomas.  She's 
new,  too.  I'll  have  to  let  her  speak  if  you  won't,'  she  said,  a  trifle 
anxiously. 

'Mrs.  Thomas,  by  all  means,'  murmured  Borrodaile,  as  Ernes 
tine,  seeing  her  plea  was  hopeless,  turned  away. 

Vida  caught  her  by  the  coat.  '  Where  are  the  others  ?  The  rest 
of  your  good  speakers  ? ' 

'Scattered  up  and  down.  Getting  ready  for  the  General 
Election.  That's  why  we  have  to  break  in  new  people.  Oh,  she 
sent  me  some  notes,  that  girl  did.  I  must  give  them  back  to  her.' 

Ernestine  stooped  and  opened  the  portfolio  on  Miss  Levering's 
lap.  She  rummaged  through  the  bulging  pockets. 


THE   CONVERT  187 

'I  thought,'  said  Miss  Levering,  with  obvious  misgiving,  'I 
thought  I  hadn't  seen  that  affected-looking  creature  before.' 

'Oh,  she'll  get  over  all  that,'  Ernestine  whispered.  'You 
haven't  much  opinion  of  our  crowds,  but  they  can  teach  people  a  lot.' 

'Teach  them  not  to  hold  their  heads  like  a  broken  lily?' 

'Yes,  knock  all  sorts  of  nonsense  out  and  stiffen  them  up  won 
derfully.' 

She  found  the  scrap  of  paper,  and  shut  the  portfolio  with  a  snap. 

'Now!' 

She  stood  up,  took  in  the  fact  of  the  audience  having  increased 
and  a  policeman  in  the  offing.  She  summoned  her  allies. 

'It's  nearly  time  for  those  Army  and  Navy  workers  to  come  out. 
The  men  will  come  first,'  she  said,  'and  five  minutes  after,  they  let 
the  women  out.  I'll  begin,  and  then  I  think  you'd  better  speak 
next,'  she  said,  handing  the  die-away  young  woman  her  notes. 
'These  seem  all  right.' 

'Oh,  but,  Miss  Blunt,'  she  whispered,  'I'm  so  nervous.  How 
am  I  ever  to  face  all  those  men?' 

'You'll  find  it  quite  easy  when  once  you  are  started,'  said  Ernes 
tine,  in  a  quiet  undertone. 

'But  I'm  so  afraid  that,  just  out  of  pure  nervousness,  I'll  say  the 
wrong  thing.' 

'If  you  do,  I'll  be  there,'  returned  the  chairman,  a  little  grimly. 

'  But  it's  the  very  first  time  in  my  life ' 

'  Now,  look  here  — 

Ernestine  reached  out  past  this  person  who  was  luxuriating  in 
her  own  emotions,  and  drew  the  ample  mauve  matron  into  the 
official  group  close  to  where  Miss  Levering  sat  nursing  the  hand 
bills. 

'It's  easy  enough  talking  to  these  little  meetings.  They're 
quite  good  and  quiet  —  not  a  bit  like  Hyde  Park.'  (One  of  the 
young  men  poked  the  other.  They  exchanged  looks.)  'But  there 
are  three  things  we  all  agree  it's  just  as  well  to  keep  in  mind: 
Not  to  talk  about  ourselves'  —  she  measured  off  the  tit-bits  of 
wisdom  with  a  slim  forefinger  —  '  not  to  say  anything  against  the 
press,  and,  if  possible,  remember  to  praise  the  police.' 

'Praise  the  police!'  ejaculated  the  mauve  matron. 

'  Sh  ! '  said  Ernestine,  softly.  But  not  so  easily  was  the  tide  of 
indignation  stemmed. 


i88  THE  CONVERT 

'I  saw  with  my  own  eyes '  began  the  woman. 

'Yes,  yes,  but '  she  lowered  her  voice,  Borrodaile  had  to 

strain  to  catch  what  she  said,  'you  see  it's  no  use  beating  our  heads 
against  a  stone  wall.  A  movement  that  means  to  be  popular 
must  have  the  police  on  its  side.  After  all,  they  do  very  well  — 
considering.' 

'Considering  they're  men?'  demanded  the  matron. 

'Anyhow,'  Ernestine  went  on,  'even  if  they  behaved  ten  times 
worse,  it's  not  a  bit  of  good  to  antagonize  the  police  or  the  press. 
If  they  aren't  our  friends,  we've  got  to  make  them  our  friends. 
They're  both  much  better  than  they  were.  They  must  be  en 
couraged!'  said  the  wise  young  Daniel,  with  a  little  nod.  Then 
as  she  saw  or  felt  that  the  big  matron  might  elude  her  vigilance 
and  break  out  into  indiscretion,  '  Why,  we  had  a  reporter  in  from 
the  Morning  Magnifier  only  to-day.  He  said,  "The  public  seems 
to  have  got  tired  of  reading  that  you  spit  and  scratch  and  prod 
policemen  with  your  hatpins.  Now,  do  you  mind  saying  what  is 
it  you  really  do  ?"  I  told  him  to  come  here  this  afternoon.  Now, 
when  I've  opened  the  meeting,  you'll  tell  him ! ' 

'Oh,  dear!'  the  young  woman  patted  her  fringe,  'do  you  sup 
pose  we'll  be  in  the  Magnifier  to-morrow  ?  How  dreadful ! ' 

During  this  little  interchange  a  procession  of  men  streaming 
homeward  in  their  hundreds  came  walking  down  the  Embankment 
in  twos  and  threes  or  singly,  shambling  past  the  loosely  gathered 
assemblage  about  the  bench. 

The  child  on  the  riverward  side  still  clutching  its  penny  was  un 
ceremoniously  ousted.  As  soon  as  Ernestine  had  mounted  the 
seat  the  slackly  held  gathering  showed  signs  of  cohesion.  The 
waiting  units  drew  closer.  The  dingy  procession  slowed  —  the 
workmen,  looking  up  at  the  young  face  with  the  fluttering  syca 
more  shadows  printed  on  its  pink  and  white,  grinned  or  frowned, 
but  many  halted  and  listened.  Through  the  early  part  of  the 
speech  Miss  Levering  kept  looking  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  to 
see  what  effect  it  had  on  Borrodaile.  But  Borrodaile  gave  no 
sign.  Ernestine  was  trying  to  make  it  clear  what  a  gain  it  would 
be,  especially  to  this  class,  if  women  had  the  vote.  An  uphill  task 
to  catch  and  hold  the  attention  of  those  tired  workmen.  They 
hadn't  stopped  there  to  be  made  to  think  —  if  they  weren't  going 
to  be  amused,  they'd  go  home.  A  certain  number  did  go  home, 


THE   CONVERT  189 

after  pausing  to  ask  the  young  Reformer,  more  or  less  good- 
humouredly,  why  she  didn't  get  married.  Lord  Borrodaile  had 
privately  asked  for  enlightenment  on  the  same  score.  Vida  had 
only  smiled.  One  man  varied  the  monotony  by  demanding  why, 
if  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  the  working  class  to  have  women 
voting,  why  didn't  the  Labour  Party  take  up  the  question. 

'Some  of  the  Labour  Party  have,'  Ernestine  told  them,  'but  the 
others  are  afraid.  They've  been  told  that  women  are  such  slaves 
to  convention  —  such  timid  creatures !  They  know  their  own 
women  aren't,  but  they're  doubtful  about  the  rest.  The  Labour 
Party,  you  know '  —  she  spoke  with  a  condescending  forbearance 
—  'the  Labour  Party  is  young  yet,  and  knows  what  it's  like  to  feel 
timid.  Some  of  the  Labour  men  have  the  wild  notion  that  women 
would  all  vote  Conservative.' 

'  So  they  would ! ' 

But  Ernestine  shook  her  head.  'While  we  are  trying  to  show 
the  people  who  say  that,  that  even  if  they  were  right,  it  would  be 
no  excuse  whatever  for  denying  our  claim  to  vote  whichever  way 
we  thought  best.  While  we  are  going  to  the  root  of  the  principle 
of  the  thing,  another  lot  of  logical  gentlemen  are  sure  to  say,  "Oh, 
it  would  never  do  to  have  women  voting.  They'd  be  going  in  for 
all  sorts  of  new-fangled  reforms,  and  the  whole  place  would  be 
turned  upside  down !  "  So  between  the  men  who  think  we'd  all 
turn  Tory  and  the  men  who  are  sure  we'd  all  be  Socialists,  we  don't 
seem  likely  to  get  very  far,  unless  we  do  something  to  show  them 
we  mean  to  have  it  for  no  better  reason  than  just  that  we're  human 
beings ! ' 

'  Isn't  she  delightfully  —  direct ! '  whispered  Miss  Levering, 
eager  to  cull  some  modest  flower  of  praise. 

'Oh,  direct  enough!'  His  tone  so  little  satisfied  the  half- 
maternal  pride  of  the  other  woman  that  she  was  almost  prepared 
for  the  slighting  accent  in  which  he  presently  asked,  'Is  this  the 
sort  of  thing  that's  supposed  to  convert  people  to  a  great  constitu 
tional  change?' 

'It  isn't  our  women  would  get  the  vote,'  a  workman  called  out. 
'It's  the  rich  women.' 

'  Is  it  only  the  rich  men  who  have  the  vote  ?'  demanded  Ernestine 
'  You  know  it  isn't.  We  are  fighting  to  get  the  franchise  on  pre 
cisely  the  same  terms  af  men.' 


190  THE   CONVERT 

For  several  moments  the  wrangle  went  on. 

'Would  wives  have  a  vote?' 

She  showed  how  that  could  be  made  a  matter  of  adjustment. 
She  quoted  the  lodger  franchise  and  the  latch-key  decision. 

Vida  kept  glancing  at  Borrodaile.  As  still  he  made  no  sign, 
'Of  course,'  the  lady  whispered  across  the  back  of  the  bench,  'of 
course,  you  think  she's  an  abomination,  but  —  -'  she  paused  for 
a  handsome  disavowal.  Borrodaile  looked  at  the  eager  face  — 
Vida's,  for  Miss  Blunt's  was  calm  as  a  May  morning.  As  he  did 
not  instantly  speak,  'But  you  can't  deny  she's  got  extremely  good 
wits.' 

He  seemed  to  relent  before  such  persuasiveness.  'She's  got  a 
delicious  little  face,'  he  admitted,  thinking  to  say  the  most. 

'Oh,  her  face!    That's  scarcely  the  point.' 

'It's  always  the  point.' 

'It's  the  principle  that's  at  stake,'  Ernestine  was  saying.  'The 
most  out-and-out  Socialist  among  us  would  welcome  the  enfran 
chisement  of  six  duchesses  or  all  the  women  born  with  red  hair; 
we  don't  care  on  what  plea  the  entering  wedge  gets  in.  But  let 
me  tell  you  there  aren't  any  people  on  earth  so  blind  to  their  own 
interests  as  just  you  working  men  when  you  oppose  or  when  you 
are  indifferent  to  women's  having  votes.  All  women  suffer  —  but 
it's  the  women  of  your  class  who  suffer  most.  Isn't  it?  Don't 
you  men  know  —  why,  it's  notorious !  —  that  the  women  of  the 
working  class  are  worse  sweated  even  than  the  men  ?  ' 

'So  they  are!' 

'  If  you  don't  believe  me,  ask  them.     Here  they  come. ' 

It  was  well  contrived  —  that  point !  It  struck  full  in  the  face 
of  the  homeward-streaming  women  who  had  just  been  let  out. 

'We  know,  and  you  men  know '  the  speaker  nailed  her 

advantage,  'that  even  the  Government  that's  being  forced  to 
become  a  model  employer  where  men  are  concerned,  the  very 
Government  is  responsible  for  sweating  thousands  of  women  in 
State  employments !  We  know  and  you  know  that  in  those  work 
rooms  over  yonder  these  very  women  have  been  sitting  weighed 
down  by  the  rumour  of  a  reduction  in  their  wages  already  so  much 
below  the  men's.  They've  sat  there  wondering  whether  they  can 
risk  a  strike.  Women  —  it's  notorious,'  she  flung  it  out  on  a  wave 
of  passion,  'women  everywhere  suffer  m  >st  from  the  evils  of  our 


THE   CONVERT  191 

social  system.  Why  not?  They've  had  no  hand  in  it!  Our 
social  system  is  the  work  of  men !  Yet  we  must  work  to  uphold 
it!  this  system  that  crushes  us.  We  must  swell  the  budget,  we 
must  help  to  pay  the  bill !  What  fools  we've  all  been !  What 
fools  we  are  if  we  don't  do  something ! ' 

'Gettin'  up  rows  and  goin'  to  'Olloway's  no  good.' 

While  she  justified  the  course  that  led  to  Holloway  - 

'Rot!  Piffle!7  they  interjected.  One  man  called  out:  'I'd 
have  some  respect  for  you  if  you'd  carried  a  bomb  into  the  House 
of  Commons,  but  a  miserable  little  scuffle  with  the  police  ! ' 

'Here's  a  gentleman  who  is  inciting  us  to  carry  bombs.  Now, 
that  shocks  me.' 

The  crowd  recovered  its  spirits  at  the  notion  of  the  champion- 
shocker  shocked. 

'We've  been  dreadfully  browbeaten  about  our  tactics,  but  that 
gentleman  with  his  bad  advice  makes  our  tactics  sound  as  inno 
cent  and  reasonable  as  they  actually  are.  When  you  talk  in  that 
wild  way  about  bombs  —  you  —  I  may  be  a  hooligan '  —  she  held 
up  the  delicate  pink-and-white  face  with  excellent  effect  —  'but 
you  do  shock  me.' 

It  wore  well  this  exquisitely  humorous  jest  about  shocking  a 
Suffragette.  The  whole  crowd  was  one  grin. 

'I'm  specially  shocked  when  I  hear  a  man  advocating  such  a 
thing !  You  men  have  other  and  more  civilized  ways  of  getting 
the  Government  to  pay  attention  to  abuses.  Now  listen  to  what 
I'm  saying :  for  it's  the  justification  of  everything  we  are  going  to 
do  in  the  future,  unless  we  get  what  we're  asking  for !  It's  this. 
Our  justification  is  that  men,  even  poor  men,  have  that  powerful 
leverage  of  the  vote.  You  men  have  no  right  to  resort  to  violence ; 
you  have  a  better  way.  We  have  no  way  but  agitation.  A  Liberal 
Government  that  refuses ' 


'Three  cheers  for  the  Liberals !     Hip,  hip  - 

'My  friend,  I  see  you  are  young,'  says  Ernestine. 

'Lord,  wot  are  you?'  the  young  man  hurled  back. 

'Before  I  got  my  political  education,  when  /  was  young  and 
innocent,  like  this  gentleman,  who  still  pins  his  faith  to  the 
Liberals,  I,  too,  hoped  great  things  from  them.  My  friends,  it's 
a  frame  of  mind  we  outlive ! '  —  and  her  friends  shrieked  with 
delight. 


192  THE   CONVERT 

'  Well,  it's  one  way  for  a  girl  to  amuse  herself  till  she  gets  mar 
ried,'  said  Borrodaile. 

'Why,  that's  just  what  the  hooligans  all  say!'  laughed  Vida. 
'And,  like  you,  they  think  that  if  a  woman  wants  justice  for  other 
women  she  must  have  a  grievance  of  her  own.  I've  heard  them 
ask  Ernestine  in  Battersea  —  she  has  valiant  friends  there  — 
"Go's  'urt  your  feelin's?"  they  say.  "Tell  me,  and  I'll  punch  'is 
'ead."  But  you  aren't  here  to  listen  to  me!'  Vida  caught  herself 
up.  'This  is  about  the  deputation  of  women  that  waited  on  the 
Prime  Minister.' 

'Didn't  get  nothin'  out  of  him!'  somebody  shouted. 

'  Oh,  yes,  we  did  !  We  got  the  best  speech  in  favour  of  Woman's 
Suffrage  that  any  of  us  ever  heard.' 

'Haw!     Haw!     Clever  ol'  fox!' 

'  'E  just  buttered  'em  up  !     But  'e  don't  do  nothin'.' 

'Oh,  yes,  he  did  something!' 

'What?' 

'He  gave  us  advice  !'  They  all  laughed  together  at  that  in  the 
most  friendly  spirit  in  the  world.  'Two  nice  pieces,'  Ernestine 
held  up  each  hand  very  much  like  a  school  child  rejoicing  over 
slices  of  cake.  ''One  we  are  taking'  —  she  drew  in  a  hand  — 
'the  other  we  aren't'  —  she  let  it  fall.  'He  said  we  must  win  peo 
ple  to  our  way  of  thinking.  We're  doing  it;  at  a  rate  that  must 
astonish,  if  it  doesn't  even  embarrass  him.  The  other  piece  of 
distinguished  advice  he  gave  us  was  of  a  more  doubtful  character.' 
Her  small  hands  took  it  up  gingerly.  Again  she  seemed  to  weigh 
it  there  in  the  face  of  the  multitude.  'The  Prime  Minister  said 
we  "must  have  patience."  She  threw  the  worthless  counsel  into 
the  air  and  tossed  contempt  after  it.  'It  is  man's  oldest  advice  to 


woman 
' 


' 


All  our  trouble  fur  nothin'  !'  groaned  an  impish  boy. 

'We  see  now  that  patience  has  been  our  bane.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  this  same  numbing  slavish  patience  we  wouldn't  be  stand 
ing  before  the  world  to-day,  political  outcasts  —  catalogued  with 
felons  and  lunatics  -  ' 

'And  peers!'  called  a  voice. 

'We  are  done  with  patience!'  said  Ernestine,  hotly;  'and  for 
that  reason  there  is  at  last  some  hope  for  the  women's  cause.  Now 
Miss  Scammell  will  speak  to  you.' 


THE   CONVERT  193 

A  strange  thing  happened  when  Miss  Scammell  got  up.  She 
seemed  to  leave  her  attractiveness,  such  as  it  was,  behind  when  she 
climbed  up  on  the  bench.  Standing  mute,  on  a  level  with  the  rest, 
her  head  deprecatingly  on  one  side,  she  had  pleased.  Up  there  on 
the  bench,  presuming  to  teach,  she  woke  a  latent  cruelty  in  the 
mob.  They  saw  she  couldn't  take  care  of  herself,  and  so  they 
'went  for  her'  —  the  very  same  young  men  who  had  got  up  and 
given  her  a  choice  of  the  seats  they  had  been  at  the  pains  to  come 
early  to  secure.  To  be  sure,  when,  with  a  smile,  she  had  sat  down 
only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before,  in  the  vacated  place  of  one  of  them, 
the  other  boy  promptly  withdrew  with  his  pal.  It  would  have  been 
too  compromising  to  remain  alongside  the  charmer.  But  when 
Miss  Scammell  stood  up  on  that  same  bench,  she  was  assumed  to 
have  left  the  realm  of  smiles  and  meaning  looks  where  she  was  mis 
tress  and  at  home.  She  had  ventured  out  into  the  open,  not  only 
without  the  sword  of  pointed  speech  —  that  falls  to  few  —  but  this 
young  lady  had  not  even  the  armour  of  absolute  earnestness.  When 
she  found  that  smiling  piteously  wouldn't  do,  she  proceeded,  look 
ing  more  and  more  like  a  scared  white  rabbit,  to  tell  about  the  hor 
rible  cases  of  lead-poisoning  among  the  girls  in  certain  china  and 
earthenware  works.  All  that  she  had  to  say  was  true  and  signifi 
cant  enough.  But  it  was  no  use.  They  jeered  and  howled  her 
down  for  pure  pleasure  in  her  misery.  She  trembled  and  lost  her 
thread.  She  very  nearly  cried.  Vida  wondered  that  the  little 
chairwoman  didn't  fly  to  the  rescue.  But  Ernestine  sat  quite  un 
moved  looking  in  her  lap. 

'Lamentable  exhibition!'  said  Borrodaile,  moving  about  un 
easily. 

The  odd  thing  was  that  Miss  Scammell  kept  on  with  her  prickly 
task. 

'Why  don't  you  make  her  sit  down?'  Vida  whispered  to  Miss 
Blunt. 

'Because  I've  got  to  see  what  she's  made  of.' 

'But  surely  you  see  !     She's  awful !' 

'Not  half  so  bad  as  lots  of  men  when  they  first  try.  If  she 
weathers  this,  she'll  be  a  speaker  some  day.' 

At  la^t,  having  told  her  story  through  the  interruptions  —  told 
it  badly,  brokenly,  but  to  the  end  —  having  given  proofs  that  lead- 
poisoning  among  women  was  on  the  increase  and  read  out  from 
o 


194  THE   CONVERT 

her  poor  crumpled,  shaking  notes,  the  statistics  of  infant  and  still 
birth  mortality,  the  unhappy  new  helper  sat  down. 

Miss  Blunt  leaned  over,  and  whispered,  'That's  all  right!  I 
was  wrong.  This  is  nearly  as  bad  as  Hyde  Park,'  and  with  that 
jumped  up  to  give  the  crowd  a  piece  of  her  mind. 

They  sniggered,  but  they  quieted  down,  all  but  one. 

'Yes,  you  are  the  gentleman,  you  there  with  the  polo  cap,  who 
doesn't  believe  in  giving  a  fair  hearing.  I  would  like  to  ask  that 
man  who  thinks  himself  so  superior,  that  one  in  the  grey  cap, 
whether  he  is  capable  of  standing  up  here  on  this  bench  and 
addressing  the  crowd.' 

'Hear,  hear.' 

'Yes!     Get  on  the  bench.     Up  with  him.' 

A  slight  scrimmage,  and  an  agitated  man  was  observed  to  be 
seeking  refuge  on  the  outskirts. 

'Bad  as  Miss  Scammell  was,  she  made  me  rather  ashamed  of 
myself,'  Vida  confided  to  Borrodaile. 

'Yes,'  he  said  sympathetically,  'it  always  makes  one  rather 
ashamed  —  even  if  it's  a  man  making  public  failure.' 

'Oh,  that  wasn't  what  I  meant.  She  at  least  tried.  But  I  — 
I  feel  I'm  a  type  of  all  the  idle  women  the  world  over.  Leaving  it 
to  the  poor  and  the  ill-equipped  to ' 

'To  keep  the  world  from  slipping  into  chaos?'  he  inquired 
genially. 

She  hadn't  heard.     Her  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  chairwoman. 

'After  all,  they've  got  Ernestine,'  Vida  exulted  under  her  breath. 

Borrodaile  fell  to  studying  this  aspect  of  the  face  whose  every 
change  he  had  thought  he  knew  so  well.  What  was  the  new 
thing  in  it  ?  Not  admiration  merely,  not  affection  alone  —  some 
thing  almost  fierce  behind  the  half-protecting  tenderness  with  which 
she  watched  the  chairman's  duel  with  the  mob.  Borrodaile  lifted 
a  hand  —  people  were  far  too  engrossed,  he  knew,  to  notice  —  and 
he  laid  it  on  Vida's,  which  had  tightened  on  the  back  of  the  bench. 

'  My  dear ! '  he  said  wondering  and  low  as  one  would  to  wake  a 
sleepwalker. 

She  answered  without  looking  at  him,  'What  is  it?' 

He  seemed  not  to  know  quite  how  to  frame  his  protest. 

'  She  can  carry  you  along  at  least  1 '  he  grumbled.  '  You  forget 
everybody  else ! ' 


THE   CONVERT  195 

Vida  smiled.  It  was  so  plain  whom  he  meant  by  'everybody.' 
Lord  Borrodaile  gave  a  faint  laugh.  He  probably  knew  that  would 
'bring  her  round.'  It  did.  It  brought  her  quick  eyes  to  his  face ; 
it  brought  low  words. 

'Please!    Don't  let  her  see  you  —  laughing,  I  mean.' 

'You  can  explain  to  her  afterwards  that  it  was  you  I  was  laugh 
ing  at.'  As  that  failed  of  specific  effect,  'You  really  are  a  little 
ridiculous,'  he  said  again,  with  the  edge  in  his  voice,  'hanging  on 
the  lips  of  that  Backfisch  as  if  she  were  Demosthenes.' 

'We  don't  think  she's  a  Demosthenes.  We  know  she  is  some 
thing  much  more  significant  —  for  us.' 

'What?' 

'She's  Ernestine  Blunt.' 

Clean  out  of  patience,  he  turned  his  back. 

'Am  I  alone  ?'  she  whispered  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  in  apology. 
'Look  at  all  the  other  women.  Some  of  them  are  very  intelligent. 
Our  interest  in  our  fellow-woman  seems  queer  and  unnatural  to 
you  because  you  don't  realize  Mrs.  Brown  has  always  been  inter 
ested  in  Mrs.  Jones.' 

'Oh,  has  she?' 

'Yes.  She  hasn't  said  much  to  Mr.  Brown  about  it,'  Vida 
admitted,  smiling,  because  a  man's  interest  in  woman  is  so 
limited.' 

Borrodaile  laughed.     'I  didn't  know  that  was  his  failing!' 

'I  mean  his  interest  is  of  one  sort.  It's  confined  to  the  woman 
he  finds  interesting  in  that  way  at  that  minute.  Other  women 
bore  him.  But  other  women  have  always  been  mightily  interest 
ing  to  us  !  Now,  sh  !  let's  listen.' 

'I  can  understand  those  callow  youths,'  unwarily  he  persisted; 
'she's  pink  and  pert  and  all  the  rest,  but  you  — 

'  Oh,  will  you  never  understand  ?  Don't  you  know  women  are 
more  civilized  than  men?' 

'Woman!  she'll  be  the  last  animal  domesticated.'  It  seemed  as 
if  he  preferred  to  have  her  angry  rather  than  oblivious  of  him. 

But  not  for  nothing  did  she  belong  to  a  world  which  dares  to  say 
whatever  it  wants  to  say. 

'We  are  civilized  enough,  at  all  events'  —  there  was  an  ominous 
sparkle  in  her  eye  —  '  to  listen  to  men  speakers  clever  or  dull  — 
we  listen  quietly  enough.  But  men  !  —  a  person  must  be  of  youi 


196  THE   CONVERT 

own  sex  for  you  to  be  able  to  regard  him  without  distraction.  If  the 
woman  is  beautiful  enough,  you  are  intoxicated.  If  she's  plain 
enough,  you  are  impatient.  All  you  see  in  any  woman  is  her  sex. 
You  can't  listen.' 

'Whew!'  remarked  Borrodaile. 

'  But  /  must  listen  —  I  haven't  got  over  being  ashamed  to  find 
how  much  this  girl  can  teach  me.' 

'I'm  sorry  for  you  that  any  of  Miss  Scammell's  interesting 
speech  was  lost,'  the  chairman  was  saying.  'She  was  telling  you 
just  the  kind  of  thing  that  you  men  ought  to  know,  the  kind  of 
thing  you  get  little  chance  of  knowing  about  from  men.  Yet  those 
wretched  girls  who  die  young  of  lead-poisoning,  or  live  long  enough 
to  bring  sickly  babies  into  the  world,  those  poor  working  women 
look  to  you  working  men  for  help.  Are  they  wrong  to  look  to  you, 
or  are  they  right?  You  working  men  represent  the  majority  of 
the  electorate.  You  can  change  things  if  you  will.  If  you 
don't,  don't  think  the  woman  will  suffer  alone.  We  shall  all  suffer 
together.  More  and  more  the  masters  are  saying,  "We'll  get  rid 
of  these  men  —  they're  too  many  for  us  with  their  unions  and  their 
political  pull.  We'll  get  women.  We'll  get  them  for  two-thirds 
of  what  we  pay  the  men.  Good  business!"  say  the  masters. 
But  it's  bad  business ' 

'For  all  but  the  masters,'  muttered  the  tramp. 

'Bad  for  the  masters,  too,'  said  the  girl,  'only  they  can't  see  it, 
or  else  they  don't  care  what  sort  of  world  they  leave  to  their  chil 
dren.  If  you  men  weren't  so  blind,  you'd  see  the  women  will  be 
in  politics  what  they  are  in  the  home  —  your  best  friends.' 

'Haw!  haw!    Listen  at  'er!' 

'With  the  women  you  would  be  strong.  Without  them  you 
are  —  what  you  are  ! ' 

The  ringing  contempt  in  her  tone  was  more  than  one  gentleman 
could  put  up  with. 

'How  do  you  think  the  world  got  on  before  you  came  to  show 
it  how?' 

'  It  got  on  very  badly.  Not  only  in  England  —  all  over  the  world 
men  have  insisted  on  governing  alone.  What's  the  result?  Mis 
ery  and  degradation  to  the  masses,  and  to  the  few  —  the  rich  and 
high-placed  —  for  them  corruption  and  decline.' 

'  That's  it,  always  'ammering  away  at  the  men  —  pore  devils ! ' 


THE   CONVERT  197 

'Some  people  are  so  foolish  as  to  think  we  are  working  against 
the  men.' 

'  So  you  are ! ' 

'  It's  just  what  the  old-school  politicians  would  like  you  to  think. 
But  it's  nonsense.  Nobody  knows  better  than  we  that  the  best 
interests  of  men  and  women  are  identical  —  they  can't  be  separated. 
It's  trying  to  separate  them  that's  made  the  whole  trouble.' 

'Oh,  you  know  it  all!' 

*  Well,  you  see '  —  she  put  on  her  most  friendly  and  reasonable 
air  —  'men  have  never  been  obliged  to  study  women's  point  of 
view.  But  we've  been  obliged  to  study  the  men's  point  of  view. 
It's  natural  we  should  understand  you  a  great  deal  better  than 
you  understand  us.  And  though  you  sometimes  disappoint  us, 
we  don't  lose  hope  of  you.'  . 

'Thanks  awfully.' 

'  We  think  that  if  we  can  only  make  you  understand  the  meaning 
of  this  agitation,  then  you'll  help  us  to  get  what  we  want.  We 
believe  the  day  will  come  when  the  old  ideal  of  men  standing  by 
the  women  —  when  that  ideal  will  be  realized.  For  don't  believe 
it  ever  has  been  realized.  It  never  has !  Now  our  last  speaker 
for  to-day  will  say  a  few  words  to  you.  Mrs.  Thomas.' 

'Haven't  you  had  about  enough?'  said  Borrodaile,  impatiently. 

'Don't  wait  for  me,'  was  all  her  answer. 

'Shall  you  stay,  then,  till  the  bitter  end?' 

'  It  will  only  be  a  few  moments  now.     I  may  as  well  see  it  out/ 

He  glanced  at  his  watch,  detached  it,  and  held  it  across  the 
back  of  the  seat. 

She  nodded,  and  repeated,  'Don't  wait.' 

His  answer  to  that  was  to  turn  not  only  a  bored  but  a  slightly 
injured  face  towards  the  woman  who  had,  not  without  difficulty, 
balanced  her  rotund  form  on  the  bench  at  the  far  end.  She 
might  have  been  the  comfortable  wife  of  a  rural  grocer.  She 
spoke  the  good  English  you  may  not  infrequently  hear  among 
that  class,  but  it  became  clear,  as  she  went  on,  that  she  was  a  person 
of  a  wider  cultivation. 

'You'd  better  go.  She'll  be  stodgy  and  dull.'  Vida  spoke  with 
a  real  sympathy  for  her  friend's  sufferings.  'Oh,  portentous  dull.' 

'And  no  waist  1'  sighed  Borrodaile,  but  he  sank  back  in  his 
corner. 


198  THE   CONVERT 

Presently  his  wandering  eye  discovered  something  in  his  ccm- 
panion's  aspect  that  told  him  subtly  she  was  not  listening  to  the 
mauve  matron.  Neither  were  some  of  the  others.  A  number 
had  moved  away,  and  the  little  lane  their  going  left  was  not  yet 
closed,  for  the  whole  general  attention  was  obviously  slackened. 
This  woman  wasn't  interesting  enough  even  to  boo  at.  The 
people  who  didn't  go  home  began  to  talk  to  one  another.  But 
in  Vida's  face — what  had  brought  to  it  that  still  intensity?  Bor- 
rodaile  moved  so  that  he  could  follow  the  fixed  look.  One  of 
the  infrequently  passing  hansoms  had  stopped.  Was  she  look 
ing  at  that?  Two  laughing  people  leaning  out,  straining  to 
catch  what  the  mauve  orator  was  saying.  Suddenly  Borrodaile 
pulled  his  slack  figure  together. 

'  Sophia  ! '  he  ejaculated  softly,  '  and  Stonor !  —  by  the  beard 
of  the  prophet  1 '  He  half  rose,  whether  more  annoyed  or  amazed 
it  would  be  hard  to  tell.  'We're  discovered  !'  he  said,  in  a  laugh 
ing  whisper.  As  he  turned  to  add  'The  murder's  out,'  he  saw 
that  Vida  had  quietly  averted  her  face.  She  was  leaning  her 
head  on  her  hand,  so  that  it  masked  her  features.  Even  if  the 
woman  who  was  speaking  had  not  been  the  object  of  such  interest 
as  the  people  in  the  hansom  had  to  bestow,  even  had  either  of 
them  looked  towards  Vida's  corner,  only  a  hat  and  a  gauze  ruffle 
would  have  been  seen. 

Borrodaile  took  the  hint.  His  waning  sense  of  the  humour  of 
the  situation  revived. 

'Perhaps,  after  all,  if  we  lay  low,'  he  said,  smiling  more  broadly. 
*It  would  be  nuts  for  Stonor  to  catch  us  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Mrs. 
Thomas.'  He  positively  chuckled  at  the  absurdity  of  the  situation. 
He  had  slipped  back  into  his  corner,  but  he  couldn't  help  craning 
his  neck  to  watch  those  two  leaning  over  the  door  of  the  hansom, 
while  they  discussed  some  point  with  animation.  Several  times 
the  man  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  give  an  order  through  the  trap 
door.  Each  time  Sophia  laughingly  arrested  him.  'He  wants 
to  go  on,'  reported  Borrodaile,  sympathetically.  'She  wants 
him  to  wait  a  minute.  Now  he's  jumped  out.  What's  he  — 
looking  for  another  hansom  ?  No  —  now  she's  out.  Bless  me, 
she's  shaking  hands  with  him.  He's  back  in  the  hansom !  — 

driving  away.     Sophia's  actually 'Pon  my  soul,  I  don't 

know  what's  come  over  the  women !     I'm  rather  relieved  on  the 


THE   CONVERT  199 

whole.'  He  turned  round  and  spoke  into  Vida's  ear.  'I've 
been  a  little  sorry  for  Sophia.  She's  never  had  the  smallest 
interest  in  any  man  but  that  cousin  of  hers  —  and,  of  course, 
it's  quite  hopeless.' 

Vida  sat  perfectly  motionless,  back  to  the  speaker,  back  to  the 
disappearing  hansom,  staring  at  the  parapet. 

'You  can  turn  round  now  —  quite  safe.  Sophia's  out  of  range. 
Poor  Sophia  !.'  After  a  little  pause, '  Of  course  you  know  Stonor  ? ' 

'Why,  of  course.' 

'Oh,  well,  my  distinguished  cousin  used  not  to  be  so  hard  to 
get  hold  of  —  not  in  the  old  days  when  we  were  seeing  so  much 
of  your  father.' 

'  That  must  have  been  when  I  was  in  the  schoolroom  —  wasn't 
it?' 

He  turned  suddenly  and  looked  at  her.  'I'd  forgotten.  You 
know  Geoffrey,  and  you  don't  like  him.  I  saw  that  once  before.' 

'Once  before?'  she  echoed. 

He  reminded  her  of  the  time  she  hurried  away  from  Ulland 
House  to  Bishopsmead. 

'/  wasn't  deceived,'  he  said,  with  his  look  of  smiling  malice. 
'You  didn't  care  two  pins  about  your  Cousin  Mary  and  her 
influenza.' 

Vida  moved  her  expressionless  face  a  little  to  the  right.  'I  can 
see  Sophia.  But  she's  listening  to  the  speech ;'  and  Vida  herself, 
with  something  of  an  effort,  seemed  now  to  be  following  the  sordid 
experiences  of  a  girl  that  the  speaker  had  befriended  some  years 
before.  It  was  through  this  girl,  the  mauve  matron  said,  that 
she  herself  had  come  into  touch  with  the  abject  poor.  She  took 
a  big  barrack  of  a  house  in  a  poverty-stricken  neighbourhood, 
and  it  became  known  that  there  she  received  and  helped  both 
men  and  women.  'I  sympathized  with  the  men,  but  it  was  the 
things  the  women  told  me  that  appalled  me.  They  were  too  bad 
to  be  entirely  believed,  but  I  wrote  them  down.  They  haunted 
me.  I  investigated.  I  found  I  had  no  excuse  for  doubting  those 
stories.' 

'This  woman's  a  find,'  Vida  whispered  to  the  chairman. 

Ernestine  shook  her  head. 

'Why,  she's  making  a  first-rate  speech!'  said  Vida,  astonished. 

'There's  nobody  here  who  will  care  about  it.' 


200  THE  CONVERT 

'Why  do  you  say  that?' 

'  Oh,  all  she's  saying  is  a  commonplace  to  these  people.  Lead- 
poisoning  was  new,  to  them  —  something  they  could  take  hold  of.' 

'Well,  I  stick  to  it,  you've  got  a  good  ally  in  this  woman.  Let 
her  stand  up  in  Somerset  Hall,  and  tell  the  people ' 

'It  wouldn't  do,'  said  the  young  Daniel,  firmly. 

'You  don't  believe  her  story?' 

'  Oh,  I  don't  say  the  things  aren't  true.  But '  —  she  moved 
uneasily  —  'the  subject's  too  prickly.' 

'  Too  prickly  for  you  ! ' 

The  girl  nodded  with  an  anxious  eye  on  the  speaker.  'We 
sometimes  make  a  passing  reference — just  to  set  men  thinking, 
and  there  leave  it.  But  it  always  makes  them  furious,  of  course. 
It  does  no  good.  Either  people  know  and  just  accept  it,  or  else 
they  won't  believe,  and  it  only  gets  them  on  the  raw.  I'll  have  to 
stop  her  if '  She  leaned  forward. 

'It's  odd  your  taking  it  like  this.  I  suppose  it's  because  you're 
so  young,'  said  Vida,  wondering.  'It  must  be  because  for  you 
it  isn't  real.'  % 

'  No,  it's  because  I  see  no  decent  woman  can  think  much  about 
it  and  keep  sane.  That's  why  I  say  this  one  won't  be  any  good 
to  us.  She'll  never  be  able  to  see  anything  clearly  but  that  one 
thing.  She'll  always  be  forgetting  the  main  issue.' 

'What  do  you  call  the  main  issue?' 

'Why,  political  power,  of  course.' 

'  Oh,  wise  young  Daniel ! '  she  murmured,  as  Miss  Blunt  touched 
the  speaker's  sleeve  and  interjected  a  word  into  the  middle  of 
a  piece  of  depressing  narrative. 

Mrs.  Thomas  stopped,  faltered,  and  pulled  herself  up  with, 
'  Well,  as  I  say,  with  my  own  verifications  these  experiences  form  a 
body  of  testimony  that  should  stir  the  conscience  of  the  community. 
I  myself 'felt'  —  she  glanced  at  Ernestine  — '  I  felt  it  was  too  ghastly 
to  publish,  but  it  ought  to  be  used.  Those  who  doubted  the  evi 
dence  should  examine  it.  I  went  to  a  lady  who  is  well  known  to 
be  concerned  about  public  questions;  her  husband  is  a  member 
of  Parliament,  and  a  person  of  influence.  You  don't  know, 
perhaps,  but  she  did,  that  there's  a  Parliamentary  Commission 
going  to  sit  here  in  London  in  a  few  weeks  for  the  purpose  of 
inquiring  into  certain  police  regulations  which  greatly  concern 


THE  CONVERT  201 

women.  Who  do  you  think  are  invited  to  serve  on  that  Commis 
sion?  Men.  All  men.  Not  a  woman  in  England  is  being 
consulted.  The  husband  of  the  lady  I  went  to  see  —  he  was  one 
of  the  Commissioners.  I  said  to  her,  "  You  ought  to  be  serving 
on  that  board."  She  said,  "Oh,  no,"  but  that  women  like  her 
could  influence  the  men  who  sat  on  the  Commission.' 

'  This  is  better  1 '  whispered  the  ever-watchful  Ernestine,  with 
a  smile. 

*  So  I  told  her  about  my  ten  years'  work.  I  showed  her  some 
of  my  records  —  not  the  worst,  the  average,  sifted  and  verified. 
She  could  hardly  be  persuaded  to  glance  at  what  I  had  been  at 
so  much  pains  to  collect.  You  see '  —  she  spoke  as  though  in 
apology  for  the  lady  —  'you  see  I  had  no  official  or  recognized 
position.' 

'Hear,  hear,'  said  Ernestine. 

'I  was  simply  a  woman  whose  standing  in  the  community 
was  all  right,  but  I  had  nothing  to  recommend  me  to  serious 
attention.  I  had  nothing  but  the  courage  to  look  wrong  in  the 
face,  and  the  conscience  to  report  it  honestly.  When  I  told  her 
certain  things  —  things  that  are  so  stinging  a  disgrace  that  no 
decent  person  can  hear  them  unmoved  —  when  I  told  her  of  the 
degrading  discomforts,  the  cruelties,  that  are  practised  against 
homeless  women  even  in  some  of  the  rate-supported  casual  wards 
and  the  mixed  lodging-houses,  that  lady  said  —  sitting  there  in 
her  pleasant  drawing-room  —  she  said  it  could  not  be  true ! 
My  reports  were  exaggerated  —  women  were  sentimental  —  the 
authorities  managed  these  places  with  great  wisdom.  They  are 
so  horrible,  I  said,  they  drive  women  to  the  streets.  She  assured 
me  I  was  mistaken.  I  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  been  inside  a 
mixed  lodging-house.  She  never  had.  But  the  casual  wards 
she  knew  about.  They  were  so  well  managed  she  herself  wouldn't 
mind  at  all  spending  a  night  in  one  of  these  municipal  provisions 
for  the  homeless.  Then  I  said,  "You  are  the  woman  I  am  look 
ing  for !  Come  with  me  one  night  and  try  it.  What  night  shall 
it  be?"  She  said  she  was  engaged  in  writing  a  book.  She  could 
not  interrupt  her  work.  But  I  said,  if  those  rate-supported  places 
are  so  comfortable,  it  won't  interfere  with  your  work.  She 
turned  the  conversation.  She  talked  about  the  Commission.  The 
Commission  was  going  to  make  a  thorough  scientific  investiga 
tion.  Nothing  amateur  about  the  Commission.  The  lady  was 


202  THE   CONVERT 

sincere'  —  Mrs.  Thomas  vouched  for  it  —  'she  had  a  comfortable 
faith  in  the  Commission.  But,  I  say'  —  the  woman  leaned  for 
ward  in  her  earnestness  —  '  I  say  that  Commission  will  waste  its 
time !  I  don't  deny  it  will  investigate  and  discuss  the  position  of 
the  outcast  women  of  this  country.  Their  plight,  which  is  the 
work  of  men,  will  once  more  be  inquired  into  by  men.  I  say 
there  should  be  women  on  that  Commission.  If  the  middle  and 
upper  class  women  have  the  dignity  and  influence  men  pretend 
they  have,  why  aren't  they  represented  there  ?  Nobody  pretends 
the  matter  doesn't  concern  the  mothers  of  the  nation.  It  con 
cerns  them  horribly.  Nobody  can  think  so  ill  of  them  as  to  sup 
pose  they  don't  care.  It's  monstrous  that  men  should  sit  upon 
that  committee  alone.  Women  have  had  to  think  about  these 
things.  We  believe  this  evil  can  be  met  —  if  men  will  let  us  try. 
It  may  be  that  only  women  comprehend  it,  since  men  through  the 
ages  have  been  helpless  before  it.  Why,  then,  once  again,  this 
Commission  of  men  ?  The  mockery  of  it !  Setting  men  to  make 
their  report  upon  this  matter  to  men !  I  am  not  a  public  speaker, 
but  I  am  a  wife  and  a  mother.  Do  you  wonder  that  hearing 
about  that  Commission  gave  me  courage  to  take  the  first  oppor 
tunity  to  join  these  brave  sisters  of  mine  who  are  fighting  for 
political  liberty?' 

She  seemed  for  the  first  time  to  notice  that  a  little  group  of 
sniggerers  were  becoming  more  obstreperous. 

'We  knew,  of  course,  that  whatever  we  say  some  of  you  will 
laugh  and  jeer;  but,  speaking  for  myself,  no  mockery  that  you 
are  able  to  fling  at  us,  can  sting  me  like  the  thought  of  the  hypoc 
risy  of  that  Commission  !  Do  you  wonder  that  when  we  think  of 
it  —  you  men  who  have  power  and  don't  use  it !  —  do  you  wonder 
that  women  come  out  of  their  homes  —  young,  and  old,  and 
middle-aged  —  that  we  stand  up  here  in  the  public  places  and 
give  you  scorn  for  scorn?' 

As  the  unheroic  figure  trembling  stepped  off  the  bench,  she 
found  Vida  Levering's  hand  held  out  to  steady  her. 

'Take  my  seat,'  said  the  younger  woman. 

She  stood  beside  her,  for  once  oblivious  of  Ernestine,  who  was 
calling  for  new  members,  and  giving  out  notices. 

Vida  bent  over  the  shapeless  mauve  bundle.  'You  asked  that 
woman  to  go  with  you.  I  wish  you'd  take  me.' 


THE  CONVERT  203 

'Ah,  my  dear,  /  don't  need  to  go  again.  I  thought  to  have 
that  lady  see  it  would  do  good.  Her  husband  has  influence,  you 
see.' 

'But  you've  just  said  the  men  are  useless  in  this  matter.' 

She  had  no  answer. 

'But,  I  believe,'  Vida  went  on,  'if  more  women  were  like  you 
—  if  they  looked  into  the  thing ' 

'Very  few  could  stand  it.' 

'But  don't  hundreds  of  poor  women  "stand"  much  worse?' 

'  No ;  they  drink  and  they  die.  I  was  ill  for  three  months  after 
my  first  experience  even  of  the  tramp  ward.' 

'Was  that  the  first  thing  you  tried?' 

'No.  The  first  thing  I  tried  was  putting  on  a  Salvation  Army 
bonnet,  and  following  the  people  I  wanted  to  help  into  the  public- 
houses,  selling  the  War  Cry.' 

'  May  one  wear  the  uniform  who  isn't  a  member  of  the 
Army  ? ' 

'It  isn't  usual,'  she  said  slowly.  And  then,  as  though  to  give 
the  coup  de  grace  to  the  fine  lady's  curiosity,  '  But  that  was  child's 
play.  Before  I  sampled  the  tramp  ward,  I  covered  myself  with 
Keating's  powder  from  head  to  foot.  It  wasn't  a  bit  of  good.' 

'When  may  I  come  and  talk  to  you?' 

'Hello,  Mrs.  Thomas!'  Vida  turned  and  found  the  Lady 
Sophia  at  her  side.  '  Why,  father !  —  Oh,  I  see,  Miss  Levering. 
Well '  —  she  turned  to  the  woman  in  the  corner  —  '  how's  the 
House  of  Help?' 

'Do  you  know  about  Mrs.  Thomas's  work?'  Vida  asked. 

'Well,  rather!     I  collect  rents  in  her  district.' 

'Oh,  do  you?    You  never  told  me.' 

'Why  should  I  tell  you?' 

Ernestine  was  dismissing  the  meeting. 

'You  are  very  tired,'  said  Lord  Borrodaile,  looking  at  Vida 
Levering's  face. 

'Yes,'  she  said.     'I'll  go  now.     Come,  Sophia!' 

'We  shall  be  here  on  Thursday,'  Ernestine  was  saying,  'at  the 
same  hour,  and  we  hope  a  great  many  of  you  will  want  to  join  us.' 

'In  a  trip  to  'Olloway?    No,  thank  you!' 

Upon  that  something  indistinguishable  to  the  three  who  were 
withdrawing  was  said  in  the  group  that  had  sniggered  through 


204  THE   CONVERT 

Mrs.  Thomas's  speech.  Another  one  of  that  choice  circle  gave 
a  great  guffaw.  There  were  still  more  who  were  amused,  but  less 
indiscreetly.  Three  men,  looking  like  gentlemen,  paused  in  the 
act  of  strolling  by.  They,  too,  were  smiling. 

'You  laugh!'  Ernestine's  voice  rang  out. 

'Wait  a  moment,'  said  Vida  to  her  companions. 

She  looked  back.  It  was  plain,  from  Ernestine's  face,  she  was 
not  going  to  let  the  meeting  break  up  on  that  note. 

'  Don't  you  think  it  a  little  strange,  considering  the  well-known 
chivalry  among  men  —  don't  you  think  it  strange  that  against 
no  reform  the  world  has  ever  seen ? ' 

'Reform!    Wot  rot!' 

'If  you  don't  admit  it's  reform,  call  it  revolt!'  She  threw  the 
red-hot  word  out  among  the  people  as  if  its  fire  scorched  her. 
'Against  no  revolt  has  there  ever  been  such  a  torrent  of  ridicule 
let  loose  as  against  the  Women's  Movement.  It  almost  seems 
as  if  —  in  spite  of  men's  well-known  protecting  tenderness  towards 
woman  —  it  almost  seems  as  if  there's  nothing  in  this  world 
so  funny  to  a  man  as  a  woman!' 

'Haw!    Haw!     Got  it  right  that  time!' 

Borrodaile  was  smiling,  too. 

'Do  you  know,'  Vida  asked,  'who  those  men  are  who  have  just 
stopped  ? ' 

'No.' 

'I  believe  Ernestine  does.' 

'Oh,  perhaps  they're  bold  bad  members  of  Parliament.' 

'Some  of  us,'  she  was  saying,  'have  read  a  little  history.  We 
have  read  how  every  struggle  towards  freedom  has  met  with 
opposition  and  abuse.  We  expected  to  have  our  share  of  those 
things.  But  we  find  that  no  movement  before  ours  has  ever  had 
so  much  laughter  to  face.'  Through  the  renewed  merriment 
she  went  on:  'Yes,  you  wonder  I  admit  that.  We  don't  deny 
anything  that's  true.  And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing !  We 
aren't  made  any  prouder  of  our  men-folk  by  the  discovery  that 
behind  their  old  theory  of  woman  as  "half  angel,  half  idiot,"  is 
a  sneaking  feeling  that  "woman  is  a  huge  joke."' 

'  Or  just  a  little  one  for  a  penny  like  you ! ' 

'  Men  have  imagined  —  they  imagine  still,  that  we  have  never 
noticed  how  ridiculous  they  can  be.  You  see '  —  she  leaned 


THE   CONVERT  205 

over  and  spoke  confidentially  — '  we've  never  dared  break  it  to 
them.' 

'Haw!    Haw!' 

'We  know  they  couldn't  bear  it.' 

'Oh-hl' 

'  So  we've  done  all  our  laughing  in  our  sleeves.  Yes  —  and 
some  years  our  sleeves  had  to  be  made  —  like  balloons ! '  She 
pulled  out  the  loose  alpaca  of  her  own  while  the  workmen  chuckled 
with  appreciation. 

'I  bet  on  Ernestine,  any'ow,'  said  a  young  man,  with  an  air 
of  admitting  himself  a  bold  original  fellow. 

'Well,  open  laughter  is  less  dangerous  laughter.  It's  even  a 
guide;  it  helps  us  to  find  out  things  some  of  us  wouldn't  know 
otherwise.  Lots  of  women  used  to  be  taken  in  by  that  talk  about 
feminine  influence  and  about  men's  immense  respect  for  them  I 
But  any  number  of  women  have  come  to  see  that  underneath 
that  old  mask  of  chivalry  was  a  broad  grin. — We  are  reminded 
of  that  every  time  the  House  of  Commons  talks  about  us.'  She 
flung  it  at  the  three  supercilious  strangers.  'The  dullest  gentle 
man  there  can  raise  a  laugh  if  he  speaks  of  the  "fair  sex."  Such 
jokes !  —  even  when  they  are  clean  such  poor  little  feeble  efforts 
that  even  a  member  of  Parliament  couldn't  laugh  at  them,  unless 
he  had  grown  up  with  the  idea  that  woman  was  somehow  essentially 
funny  —  and  that  he,  oh,  no  !  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  laugh 
at  in  man!  Those  members  of  Parliament  don't  have  the  en 
lightenment  that  you  men  have  —  of  hearing  what  women  really 
think  when  we  hear  men  laugh  as  you  did  just  now  about  our 
going  to  prison.  They  don't  know  that  we  find  it  just  a  little 
strange '  —  she  bent  over  the  scattering  rabble  and  gathered  it 
into  a  sudden  fellowship  —  '  doesn't  it  strike  you,  too,  as  strange 
that  when  a  strong  man  goes  to  prison  for  his  convictions  it  is 
thought  to  be  something  rather  fine  (I  don't  say  it  is  myself  - 
though  it's  the  general  impression).  But  when  a  weak  woman 
goes  for  her  convictions,  men  find  it  very  humorous  indeed.  Our 
prisoners  have  to  bear  not  only  the  hardships  of  Holloway  Gaol, 
but  they  have  to  bear  the  worse  pains  and  penalties  inflicted  by 
the  general  public.  You,  too,  you  laugh!  And  yet  I  say'- 
she  lifted  her  arms  and  spread  them  out  above  the  people  —  'I 
say  it  was  not  until  women  were  found  ready  to  go  to  prison  — 


206  THE   CONVERT 

not  till  then  was  the  success  of  the  cause  assured.'  Her  bright 
eyes  were  shining  brighter  still  with  tears. 

'If  prison's  so  good  fur  the  cause,  why  didn't  you  go?' 

'Here's  a  gentleman  who  asks  why  I  didn't  go  to  prison.  The 
answer  to  that  is,  I  did  go.' 

She  tossed  the  information  down  among  the  cheers  and  groans 
as  lightly  as  though  it  had  no  more  personal  significance  for  her 
than  a  dropped  leaflet  setting  forth  some  minor  fact. 

'That  delicate  little  girl!'  breathed  Vida. 

'You  never  told  me  that  item  in  her  history,'  said  Borrodaile. 

'  She  never  told  me  —  never  once  spoke  of  it !  They  put  her 
in  prison!'  It  was  as  if  she  couldn't  grasp  it. 

'Of  course  one  person's  going  isn't  of  much  consequence/ 
Ernestine  was  winding  up  with  equal  spirit  and  sang-froid.  '  But 
the  fact  that  dozens  and  scores  —  all  sorts  and  conditions  — 
are  ready  to  go  —  that  matters !  And  that's  the  place  our  repre 
hensible  tactics  have  brought  the  movement  to.  The  meeting 
is  closed.' 


They  dropped  Sophia  at  her  own  door,  but  Lord  Borrodaile 
said  he  would  take  Vida  home.  They  drove  along  in  silence. 

When  they  stopped  before  the  tall  house  in  Queen  Anne's  Gate, 
Vida  held  out  her  hand. 

'It's  late.     I  won't  ask  you  in.' 

'You  are  over-tired.     Go  to  bed.' 

'I  wish  I  could.     I'm  dining  out.' 

He  looked  at  her  out  of  kind  eyes.  'It  begins  to  be  dreadfully 
stuffy  in  town.  I'm  glad,  after  all,  we're  going  on  that  absurd 
yachting  trip.' 

'I'm  not  going,'  she  said. 

'  Oh,  nonsense !     Sophia  and  I  would  break  our  hearts.' 

'I'm  sure  about  Sophia.' 

'It  will  do  you  good  to  come  and  have  a  look  at  the  Land  of 
the  Midnight  Sun,'  he  said. 

'I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  the  Land  of  Midnight  where  there's 
no  sun.  And  everybody  but  you  and  Sophia  and  my  sister  will 
think  I'm  in  Norway.' 

When  she  explained,  he  broke  out: 


THE   CONVERT  207 

'It's  the  very  wildest  nonsense  that  ever —  It  would  kill 
you.'  The  intensity  of  his  opposition  made  him  incoherent. 
'  You,  of  all  women  in  the  world !  A  creature  who  can't  even 
stand  people  who  say  "serviette"  instead  of  " table-napkin" !' 

*  Fancy  the  little  Blunt  having  been  in  prison ! ' 

'Oh,  let  the  little   Blunt  go   to '     He  checked  himself. 

'Be  reasonable,  child.'  He  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  an 
earnestness  she  had  never  seen  in  his  eyes  before.  'Why  in 
heaven  should  you ' 

'Why?    You  heard  what  that  woman  said.' 

'  I  heard  nothing  to  account  for  — 

'That's  partly,'  she  interrupted,  'why  I  must  make  this  ex 
periment.  When  a  man  like  you  —  as  good  a  man  as  you'  — 
she  repeated  with  slow  wonder  —  '  when  you  and  all  the  other 
good  men  that  the  world  is  full  of  —  v/hen  you  all  know  every 
thing  that  that  woman  knows  —  and  more !  and  yet  see  nothing 
in  it  to  account  for  what  she  feels,  and  what  I  —  I  too,  am  begin 
ning  to  feel ! '  she  broke  off.  '  Good-bye !  If  I  go  far  on 

this  new  road,  it's  you  I  shall  have  to  thank.' 

'I?' 

He  shrugged  drearily  at  the  absurd  charge,  making  no  motion 
to  take  the  offered  hand,  but  sat  there  in  the  corner  of  the  hansom 
looking  rather  old  and  shrunken. 

'You  and  one  other,'  she  said. 

That  roused  him.     'Ah,  he  has  come,  then.' 

'Who?' 

'The  other.     The  man  who  is  going  to  count.' 

Her  eyelids  drooped.  'The  man  who  was  to  count  most  for 
me  came  a  long  while  ago.  And  a  long  while  ago  —  he  went.' 

Borrodaile  looked  at  her.  '  But  this Who  is  the  gentle 
man  who  shares  with  me  the  doubtful,  I  may  without  undue 
modesty  say  the  undeserved,  honour  of  urging  you  to  disappear 
into  the  slums?  Who  is  it?' 

'The  man  who  wrote  this.' 

It  was  the  book  he  had  seen  in  her  hands  before  the  meeting. 
He  read  on  the  green  cover,  'In  the  Days  of  the  Comet.' 

'Oh,  that  fellow!  Well,  he's  not  my  novelist,  but  it's  the 
keenest  intelligence  we  have  applied  to  fiction.' 

'He  is  my  novelist.     So  I've  a  right  to  be  sorry  he  knows  noth- 


208  THE   CONVERT 

ing  about  women.  See  here  1  Even  in  his  most  rationalized 
vision  of  the  New  Time,  he  can't  help  betraying  his  old-fashioned 
prejudice  in  favour  of  the  "dolly"  view  of  women.  His  hero 
says,  "I  prayed  that  night,  let  me  confess  it,  to  an  image  I  had 
set  up  in  my  heart,  an  image  that  still  serves  v/ith  me  as  a  symbol 
for  things  inconceivable,  to  a  Master  Artificer,  the  unseen  captain 
of  all  who  go  about  the  building  of  the  world,  the  making  of  man 
kind  "  Vida's  finger  skipped,  lifting  to  fall  on  the  heroine's 

name.  '"  Nettie  .  .  .  She  never  came  into  the  temple  of  that 
worshipping  with  me."'  Swiftly  she  turned  the  pages  back. 
'Where's  that  other  place?  Here  !  The  man  says  to  the  heroine 
—  to  his  ideal  woman  he  says,  "  Behind  you  and  above  you  rises 
the  coming  City  of  the  World,  and  I  am  in  that  building.  Dear 
heart !  you  are  only  happiness  1 "  That's  the  whole  view  of  man 
in  a  nutshell.  Even  the  highest  type  of  woman  such  an  imagina 
tion  as  this  can  conjure  up '  She  shook  her  head.  '"You 

are  only  happiness,  dear"  —  a  minister  of  pleasure,  negligible  in 
all  the  nobler  moods,  all  the  times  of  wider  vision  or  exalted 
effort !  Tell  me '  —  she  bent  her  head  and  looked  into  her  com 
panion's  face  with  a  new  passion  dawning  in  her  eyes  — '  in  the 
building  of  that  City  of  the  Future,  in  the  making  of  it  beautiful, 
shall  women  really  have  no  share?' 

'My  dear,  I  only  know  that  I  shall  have  no  share  myself.' 
'Ah,  we  don't  speak  of  ourselves.'  She  opened  the  hansom 
doors  and  her  companion  got  out.  'But  this  Comet  man,'  she 
said  as  she  followed,  '  he  might  have  a  share  if  only  he  knew  why 
all  the  great  visions  have  never  yet  been  more  than  dreams.  That 
this  man  should  think  foundations  can  be  well  and  truly  laid 
when  the  best  of  one  half  the  race  are  "only  happiness,  dear!"3 
She  turned  on  the  threshold.  l Whose  happiness?' 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  fall  of  the  Liberal  Ministry  was  said  by  the  simple-minded 
to  have  come  as  a  bolt  from  the  blue.  Certainly  into  the  sub 
sequent  General  Election  were  entering  elements  but  little  foreseen. 

Nevertheless,  the  last  two  bye-elections  before  the  crash  had 
resulted  in  the  defeat  of  the  Liberal  candidate  not  by  the  Tory 
antagonist,  but  in  one  case  by  the  nominee  of  the  Labour  party, 
in  the  other  by  an  independent  Socialist.  Both  these  men  had 
publicly  thanked  the  Suffragettes  for  their  notable  share  in  piling 
up  those  triumphant  and  highly  significant  majorities.  Now 
the  country  was  facing  an  election  where,  for  the  first  time  in  the 
history  of  any  great  nation,  women  were  playing  a  part  that  even 
their  political  enemies  could  hardly  with  easy  minds  call  sub 
ordinate. 

Only  faint  echoes  of  the  din  penetrated  the  spacious  quiet  of 
Ulland  House.  Although  the  frequent  week-end  party  was 
there,  the  great  hall  on  this  particular  morning  presented  a  de 
serted  appearance  as  the  tall  clock  by  the  staircase  chimed  the 
hour  of  noon.  The  insistence  of  the  ancient  timepiece  seemed 
to  have  set  up  a  rival  in  destruction  of  the  Sunday  peace,  for  no 
sooner  had  the  twelfth  stroke  died  than  a  bell  began  to  ring. 
The  little  door  in  the  wainscot  beyond  the  clock  was  opened.  An 
elderly  butler  put  his  head  round  the  huge  screen  of  Spanish 
leather  that  masked  the  very  existence  of  the  modest  means  of 
communication  with  the  quarters  of  the  Ulland  domestics.  So 
little  was  a  .ring  at  the  front  door  expected  at  this  hour  that  Sutton 
was  still  slowly  getting  into  the  left  sleeve  of  his  coat  when  his 
mistress  appeared  from  the  garden  by  way  of  the  French  window. 
The  old  butler  withdrew  a  discreet  instant  behind  the  screen  to 
put  the  last  touches  to  his  toilet,  but  Lady  John  had  seen  that  he 
was  there.  • 

'Has  Misfe  Levering  gone  for  a  walk?'  she  inquired  of  the 
servant. 

p  209 


210  THE   CONVERT 

'I  don't  know,  m'  lady.' 

'She's  not  in  the  garden.     Do  you  think  she's  not  down  yet?' 

'I  haven't  seen  her,  m'  lady,'  said  Sutton,  emerging  from  his 
retirement  and  approaching  the  wide  staircase  on  his  way  to  answer 
the  front-door  beil. 

'  Never  mind '  —  his  mistress  went  briskly  over  to  a  wide- 
winged  writing-table  and  seated  herself  before  a  litter  of  papers 
—  'I  won't  have  her  disturbed  if  she's  resting,'  Lady  John  said, 
adding  half  to  herself,  'she  certainly  needs  it.' 

'Yes,  m'  lady,'  said  Sutton,  adjusting  the  maroon  collar  of  his 
livery  which  had  insisted  upon  riding  up  at  the  back. 

'But  I  want  her  to  know'  —  Lady  John  spoke  while  glancing 
through  a  letter  before  consigning  it  to  the  wastepaper  basket  — 
'  the  moment  she  comes  down  she  must  be  told  that  the  new  plans 
arrived  by  the  morning  post.' 

'Plans,  m'  la ' 

'She'll  understand.  There  they  are.'  The  lady  held  up  a 
packet  about  which  she  had  just  snapped  an  elastic  band.  'I'll 
put  them  here.  It's  very  important  she  should  have  them  in 
time  to  look  over  before  she  goes.' 

'Yes,  m'  lady.' 

Sutton  opened  a  door  and  disappeared.  A  footstep  sounded 
on  the  marble  floor  of  the  lobby. 

Over  her  shoulder  Lady  John  called  out, '  Is  that  Miss  Levering  ? ' 

'No,  m'  lady.     Mr.  Farnborough.' 

'I'm  afraid  I'm  scandalously  early.'  In  spite  of  his  words  the 
young  man  whipped  off  his  dust  coat  and  flung  it  to  the  servant 
with  as  much  precipitation  as  though  what  he  had  meant  to  say 
was  'scandalously  late.'  'I  motored  up  from  Dutfield.  It  didn't 
take  me  nearly  so  long  as  Lord  John  said.' 

The  lady  had  given  the  young  man  her  hand  without  rising. 
'I'm  afraid  my  husband  is  no  authority  on  motoring  —  and  he's 
not  home  yet  from  church.' 

'It's  the  greatest  luck  finding  you.'  Farnborough  sat  himself 
down  in  the  easy-chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  wide  writing-table 
undaunted  by  its  business-like  air  or  the  preoccupied  look  of  the 
woman  before  it.  'I  thought  Miss  Levering  was  the  only  person 
under  this  roof  who  was  ever  allowed  to  observe  Sunday  as  a  real 
day  of  rest.' 


THE   CONVERT  211 

'If  you've  come  to  see  Miss  Levering—     -'  began  Lady  John. 

'Is  she  here?    I  give  you  my  word  I  didn't  know  it.' 

'Oh?'  said  the  lady,  unconvinced. 

'I  thought  she'd  given  up  coming.' 

'Well,  she's  begun  again.     She's  helping  me  about  something.' 

'Oh,  helping  you,  is  she?'  said  Farnborough  with  absent  eyes; 
and  then  suddenly  'all  there/  'Lady  John,  I've  come  to  ask  you 
to  help  me.1 

'With  Miss  Levering?'  said  Hermione  Heriot's  aunt.  'I  can't 
do  it.' 

'No,  no  —  all  that's  no  good.     She  only  laughs.' 

'Oh,'  breathed  the  lady,  relieved,  'she  looks  upon  you  as  a  boy.' 

'Such  nonsense,'  he  burst  out  suddenly.  'What  do  you  think 
she  said  to  me  the  day  before  she  went  off  yachting?' 

'  That  she  was  four  years  older  than  you  ? ' 

'  Oh,  I  knew  that.  No.  She  said  she  knew  she  was  all  the 
charming  things  I'd  been  saying,  but  there  was  only  one  way  to 
prove  it,  and  that  was  to  marry  some  one  young  enough  to  be  her 
son.  She'd  noticed,  she  said,  that  was  what  the  most  attractive 
women  did  —  and  she  named  names.' 

Lady  John  laughed.     '  You  were  too  old ! ' 

He  nodded.  'Her  future  husband,  she  said,  was  probably 
just  entering  Eton.' 

'Exactly  like  her.' 

'No,  no.'  Dick  Farnborough  waived  the  subject  away.  'I 
wanted  to  see  you  about  the  secretaryship.' 

'You  didn't  get  it  then?' 

'No.     It's  the  grief  of  my  life.' 

'Oh,  if  you  don't  get  one  you'll  get  another.' 

'But  there  is  only  one,'  he  said  desperately. 

'Only  one  vacancy?' 

'Only  one  man  I'd  give  my  ears  to  work  for.' 

Lady  John  smiled.     'I  remember.' 

He  turned  his  sanguine  head  with  a  quick  look.  'Do  I  always 
talk  about  Stonor?  Weil,  it's  a  habit  people  have  got  into.' 

'I  forget,  do  you  know  Mr.  Stonor  personally,  or'  —  she  smiled 
her  good-humoured  tolerant  smile  —  'or  are  you  just  dazzled  from 
afar?' 

'Oh;  I  know  him!     The  trouble  is  he  doesn't  know  me.     If 


212  THE   CONVERT 

he  did  he'd  realize  he  can't  be  sure  of  winning  his  election  without 
my  valuable  services.' 

'  Geoffrey  Stonor's  re-election  is  always  a  foregone  conclusion.' 

Farnborough  banged  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  'That 
the  great  man  shares  that  opinion  is  precisely  his  weak  point'  — 
then  breaking  into  a  pleasant  smile  as  he  made  a  clean  breast 
of  his  hero-worship  —  '  his  only  weak  point ! ' 

'Oh,  you  think/  inquired  Lady  John,  lightly,  'just  because 
the  Liberals  swept  the  country  the  last  time,  there's  danger  of 
their ' 

'How  can  we  be  sure  any  Conservative  seat  is  safe,  after ' 

as  Lady  John  smiled  and  turned  to  her  papers  again.  'Forgive 
me,'  said  the  young  man,  with  a  tolerant  air,  'I  know  you're  not 
interested  in  politics  qua  politics.  But  this  concerns  Geoffrey 
Stonor.' 

'  And  you  count  on  my  being  interested  in  him  like  all  the  rest  ? ' 

He  leaned  forward.     'Lady  John,  I've  heard  the  news.' 

'What  news?' 

'That  your  little  niece,  the  Scotch  heiress,  is  going  to  marry  him.' 

'Who  told  you  that?' 

She  dropped  the  paper  she  had  picked  up  and  stared.  No 
doubt  about  his  having  won  her  whole  attention  at  last. 

'Please  don't  mind  my  knowing.' 

But  Lady  John  was  visibly  perturbed.  'Jean  had  set  her 
heart  on  having  a  few  days  with  just  her  family  in  the  secret, 
before  the  flood  of  congratulation  broke  loose.' 

'Oh,  that's  all  right,'  he  said  soothingly.  'I  always  hear  things 
before  other  people.' 

'Well,  I  must  ask  you  to  be  good  enough  to  be  very  circum 
spect.'  Lady  John  spoke  gravely.  'I  wouldn't  have  my  niece  or 
Mr.  Stonor  think  that  any  of  us ' 

'Oh,  of  course  not.' 

'She'll  suspect  something  if  you  so  much  as  mention  Stonor; 
and  you  can't  help  mentioning  Stonor!' 

'Yes,  I  can.     Besides  I  shan't  see  her!' 

'But  you  will'  —  Lady  John  glanced  at  the  clock.  'She'll  be 
here  in  an  hour.' 

He  jumped  up  delighted.  'What?  To-day.  The  future 
Mrs.  Stonor!' 


THE   CONVERT 


213 


'Yes/  said  his  Hostess,  with  a  harassed  air.  'Unfortunately 
we  had  one  or  two  people  already  asked  for  the  week  and  — 

'And  I  go  and  invite  myself  to  luncheon!  Lady  John.'  He 
pushed  back  the  armchair  like  one  who  clears  the  field  for  action. 
He  stood  before  her  with  his  legs  wide  apart,  and  a  look  of  enter 
prise  on  his  face.  'You  can  buy  me  off !  I'll  promise  to  remove 
myself  in  five  minutes  if  you'll  put  in  a  word  for  me.' 

'Ah!'  Lady  John  shook  her  head.  'Mr.  Stonor  inspires 
a  similar  enthusiasm  in  so  many  young  — 

'They  haven't  studied  the  situation  as  I  have.'  He  sat  down 
to  explain  his  own  excellence.  'They  don't  know  what's  at  stake. 
They  don't  go  to  that  hole  Dutfield,  as  I  did,  just  to  hear  his 
Friday  speech.' 

'But  you  were  rewarded.  My  niece,  Jean,  wrote  me  it  was 
"glorious." 

'Well,  you  know,  I  was  disappointed,'  he  said  judicially.  'Sto- 
nor's  too  content  just  to  criticize,  just  to  make  his  delicate  pungent 
fun  of  the  men  who  are  grappling  —  very  inadequately  of  course 
—  still  grappling  with  the  big  questions.  There's  a  carrying 
power '  —  he  jumped  to  his  feet  again  and  faced  an  imaginary 
audience  —  '  some  'of  Stonor's  friends  ought  to  point  it  out  — 
there's  a  driving  power  in  the  poorest  constructive  policy  that 
makes  the  most  brilliant  criticism  look  barren.' 

She  regarded  the  budding  politician  with  good-humoured  malice. 

'Who  told  you  that?' 

'You  think  there's  nothing  in  it  because  7  say  it.  But  now 
that  he's  coming  into  the  family,  Lord  John  or  somebody  really 
ought  to  point  out  —  Stonor's  overdoing  his  role  of  magnificent 
security.' 

The  lady  sat  very  straight.  'I  don't  see  even  Lord  John  offer 
ing  to  instruct  Mr.  Stonor,'  she  said,  with  dignity. 

'  Believe  me,  that's  just  Stonor's  danger !  Nobody  saying  a 
word,  everybody  hoping  he's  on  the  point  of  adopting  some 
definite  line,  something  strong  and  original,  that's  going  to  fire 
the  public  imagination  and  bring  the  Tories  back  into  power 

'So  he  will.' 

'Not  if  he  disappoints  meetings,'  said  Farnborough,  hotly; 
'not  if  he  goes  calmly  up  to  town,  and  leaves  the  field  to  the  Lib 
erals.' 


214  THE   CONVERT 

'When  did  he  do  anything  like  that?' 

'  Yesterday ! '  Farnborough  flung  out  the  accusation  as  he 
strode  up  and  down  before  the  divan.  'And  now  he's  got  this 
other  preoccupation ' 

'You  mean ?' 

'Yes,  your  niece  —  the  spoilt  child  of  fortune.'  Farnborough 
stopped  suddenly  and  smacked  his  forehead.  'Of  course /' — 
he  wheeled  round  upon  Lady  John  with  accusing  face  —  '  I  under 
stand  it  now.  She  kept  him  from  the  meeting  last  night !  Well ! ' 
-he  collapsed  in  the  nearest  chair — 'if  that's  the  effect  she's 
going  to  have,  it's  pretty  serious!' 

'You  are,'  said  his  hostess. 

'I  can  assure  you  the  election  agent's  more  so.  He's  simply 
tearing  his  hair.' 

She  had  risen.     'How  do  you  know?'  she  asked  more  gravely. 

'He  told  me  so  himself,  yesterday.  I  scraped  acquaintance 
with  the  agent,  just  to  see  if  —  if  — 

'I  see,'  she  smiled.  'It's  not  only  here  that  you  manoeuvre 
for  that  secretaryship!' 

As  Lady  John  moved  towards  the  staircase  she  looked  at  the 
clock.  Farnborough  jumped  up  and  followed  her,  saying  con 
fidentially  — 

'You  see,  you  can  never  tell  when  your  chance  might  come. 
The  election  chap's  promised  to  keep  me  posted.  Why,  I've 
even  taken  the  trouble  to  arrange  with  the  people  at  the  station 
to  receive  any  message  that  might  come  over  from  Dutfield.' 

'For  you?'     She  smiled  at  his  self-importance. 

Breathlessly  he  hurried  on:  'Immense  unexpected  pressure 
of  work,  you  know  —  now  that  we've  forced  the  Liberals  to  appeal 
to  the  country ' 

He  stopped  as  the  sound  of  light  steps  came  flying  through 
the  lobby,  and  a  young  girl  rushed  into  the  hall  calling  out  gaily  — 

'Aunt  Ellen  !     Here  I ' 

She  stopped  precipitately,  and  her  outstretched  arms  fell  to 
her  sides.  A  radiant,  gracious  figure,  she  stood  poised  an  in 
stant,  the  light  of  gladness  in  her  eyes  only  partially  dimmed  by 
the  horrid  spectacle  of  an  interloper  in  the  person  of  a  strange 
young  man. 

'  My  darling  Jean ! ' 


THE  CONVERT  215 

Lady  John  went  forward  and  kissed  her  at  the  moment  that 
the  master  of  the  house  came  hurrying  in  from  the  garden  with 
a  cheerful  — 

*  I  thought  that  was  you  running  up  the  avenue  1 ' 

'Uncle,  dear!' 

The  pretty  vision  greeted  him  with  the  air  of  a  privileged  child 
of  the  house,  interrupting  only  for  an  instant  the  babel  of  cross- 
purpose  explanation  about  carriages  and  trains. 

Lord  John  had  shaken  hands  with  Dick  Farnborough  and 
walked  him  towards  the  window,  saying  through  the  torrent  — 

'New  they'll  tell  each  other  for  the  next  ten  minutes  that  she's 
an  hour  earlier  than  we  expected.' 

Although  young  Farnborough  had  looked  upon  the  blooming 
addition  to  the  party  with  an  undisguised  interest,  he  readily 
fell  in  with  Lord  John's  diplomatic  move  to  get  him  out  of  the 
way.  He  even  helped  towards  his  own  effacement,  looking  out 
through  the  window  with  — 

'The  Freddy  Tunbridges  said  they  were  coming  to  you  this 
week.' 

'Yes,  they're  dawdling  through  the  park  with  the  Church 
Brigade.' 

'Oh,  I'll  go  and  meet  them;'    and  Farnborough  disappeared. 

As  Lord  John  turned  back  to  his  two  ladies  he  offered  it  as  his 
opinion  — 

'That  discreet  young  man  will  get  on.' 

'  But  how  did  you  get  here  ? '     Lady  John  was  still  wondering. 

Breathless,  the  girl  answered,  'He  motored  me  down.' 

'Geoffrey   Stonor?' 

She  nodded,  beaming. 

'Why,  where  is  he  then?' 

'He  dropped  me  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and  went  on  to  see 
a  supporter  about  something.' 

'  You  let  him  go  off  like  that ! '     Lord  John  reproached  her. 

'Without  ever—  Lady  John  interrupted  herself  to  take 

Jean's  two  hands  in  hers.  'Just  tell  me,  my  child,  is  it  all  right?' 

'My  engagement?    Absolutely.' 

Such  radiant  security  shone  in  the  soft  face  that  the  older 
woman,  drawing  the  girl  down  beside  her  on  the  divan,  dared 
to  say  — 


2i6  THE   CONVERT 

'Geoffrey  Stonor  isn't  going  to  be  —  a  little  too  old  for  you.' 

Jean  chimed  out  the  gayest  laugh  in  the  world.  '  Bless  me ! 
am  I  such  a  chicken?' 

'Twenty-four  used  not  to  be  so  young,  but  it's  become  so.' 

'Yes,  we  don't  grow  up  so  quick,'  she  agreed  merrily.  'But, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  stay  up  longer.' 

'You've  got  what's  vulgarly  called  "looks,"  my  dear,'  said  her 
uncle,  'and  that  will  help  to  keep  you  up.' 

'I  know  what  Uncle  John's  thinking,'  she  turned  on  him  with 
a  pretty  air  of  challenge.  'But  I'm  not  the  only  girl  who's  been 
left  "what's  vulgarly  called"  money.' 

'You're  the  only  one  of  our  immediate  circle  who's  been  left 
so  beautifully  much.' 

'Ah!  but  remember,  Geoffrey  could  —  everybody  knows  he 
could  have  married  any  one  in  England.' 

'I  am  afraid  everybody  does  know  it,'  said  her  ladyship,  faintly 
ironic,  'not  excepting  Mr.  Stonor.' 

'Well,  how  spoilt  is  the  great  man?'  inquired  Lord  John,  mis 
chievously. 

'Not  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world.  You'll  see !  He  so  wants 
to  know  my  best-beloved  relations  better.'  She  stopped  to  bestow 
another  embrace  on  Lady  John.  'An  orphan  has  so  few  belong 
ings,  she  has  to  make  the  most  of  them.' 

'Let  us  hope  he'll  approve  of  us  on  further  acquaintance.' 

'  Oh,  he  will !  He's  an  angel.  Why,  he  gets  on  with  my  grand 
father!' 

'  Does  he  ? '  said  her  aunt,  unable  to  forbear  teasing  her  a  little. 
'You  mean  to  say  Mr.  Geoffrey  Stonor  isn't  just  a  tiny  bit 
"superior"  about  Dissenters.' 

'  Not  half  as  much  so  as  Uncle  John,  and  all  the  rest  of  you ! 
My  grandfather's  been  ill  again,  you  know,  and  rather  difficult  — 

bless  him !   but  Geoffrey '  she  clasped  her  hands  to  fill  out 

her  wordless  content  with  him. 

'  Geoffrey  must  have  powers  of  persuasion,  to  get  that  old  Cove 
nanter  to  let  you  come  in  an  abhorred  motor-car,  on  Sunday,  too ! ' 

Jean  pursed  her  red  lips  and  put  up  a  cautionary  finger  with 
a  droll  little  air  of  alarm. 

'  Grandfather  didn't  know  ! '  she  half  whispered. 

'Didn't  know?' 


THE  CONVERT  217 

'I  honestly  meant  to  come  by  train,'  she  hastened  to  exculpate 
herself.  '  Geoffrey  met  me  on  my  way  to  the  station.  We  had 
the  most  glorious  run!  Oh,  Aunt  Ellen,  we're  so  happy !'  She 
pressed  her  cheek  against  Lady  John's  shoulder.  'I've  so  looked 
forward  to  having  you  to  myself  the  whole  day  just  to  talk  to  you 
about ' 

Lord  John  turned  away  with  affected  displeasure.  'Oh,  very 
well ' 

She  jumped  up  and  caught  him  affectionately  by  the  arm. 
'  You'd  find  it  drefHy  dull  to  hear  me  talk  about  Geoffrey  the 
whole  blessed  day!' 

'Well,  till  luncheon,  my  dear—  Lady  John  had  risen  with 

a  glance  at  the  clock.     'You  mustn't  mind  if  I-  She  broke 

off  and  went  to  the  writing-table,  saying  aside  to  her  husband, 
'I'm  beginning  to  feel  a  little  anxious;  Miss  Levering  wasn't 
only  tired  last  night,  she  was  ill.' 

'I  thought  she  looked  very  white,'  said  Lord  John. 

'Oh,  dear!  Have  you  got  other  people?'  demanded  the  happy 
egoist. 

'One  or  two.  Your  uncle's  responsible  for  asking  that  old 
cynic,  St.  John  Greatorex,  and  I'm  responsible  for  — 

Jean  stopped  in  the  act  of  taking  off  her  long  gloves.  'Mr. 
Greatorex!  He's  a  Liberal,  isn't  he?'  she  said  with  sudden 
gravity. 

'Little  Jean!'  Lord  John  chuckled,  'beginning  to  "think  in 
parties ! "  ' 

'It's  very  natural  now  that  she  should  — 

'I  only  meant  it  was  odd  he  should  be  here.  Of  course  I'm 
not  so  silly  — 

'It's  all  right,  my  child,'  said  her  uncle,  kindly.  'We  naturally 
expect  now  that  you'll  begin  to  think  like  Geoffrey  Stonor,  and 
to  feel  like  Geoffrey  Stonor,  and  to  talk  like  Geoffrey  Stonor. 
And  quite  proper,  too  ! ' 

'Well,'  —  Jean  quickly  recovered  her  smiles  —  'if  I  do  think 
with  my  husband,  and  feel  with  him  —  as  of  course  I  shall  — 
it  will  surprise  me  if  I  ever  find  myself  talking  a  tenth  as  well ! ' 
In  her  enthusiasm  she  followed  her  uncle  to  the  French  window. 
'You  should  have  heard  him  at  Dutfield.'  She  stopped  short. 
'The  Freddy  Tunbridges!'  she  exclaimed,  looking  out  into  the 


218  THE   CONVERT 

garden.  A  moment  later  her  gay  look  fell.  'What?  Not  Aunt 
Lydia !  Oh — h ! '  She  glanced  back  reproachfully  at  Lady 
John,  to  find  her  making  a  discreet  motion  of  'I  couldn't  help  it  I* 
as  the  party  from  the  garden  came  in. 

The  greetings  of  the  Freddys  were  cut  short  by  Mrs.  Heriot, 
who  embraced  her  niece  with  a  significant  warmth. 

'/  wasn't  surprised,'  she  said  Sutto  voce.  'I  always  prophe 
sied ' 

'Sh  —  Please '  the  girl  escaped. 

'We  haven't  met  since  you  were  in  short  skirts/  said  the  young 
man  who  had  been  watching  his  opportunity.  'I'm  Dick  Farn- 
borough.' 

'Oh,  I  remember.'     Jean  gave  him  her  hand. 

Mrs.  Freddy  was  looking  round  and  asking  where  was  the 
Elusive  One? 

'Who  is  the  Elusive  One?'  Jean  demanded. 

'  Lady  John's  new  ally  in  good  works ! '  said  Mrs.  Freddy. 
'Why,  you  met  her  one  day  at  my  house  before  you  went  back 
to  Scotland.' 

'Oh,  you  mean  Miss  Levering.' 

'Yes;   nice  creature,  isn't  she?'  said  Lord  John,  benevolently. 

'I  used  rather  to  love  her,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy,  brightly,  'but 
she  doesn't  come  to  us  any  more.  She  seems  to  be  giving  up 
going  anywhere,  except  here,  so  far  as  I  can  make  out.' 

'She  knows  she  can  rest  here,'  said  Lady  John. 

'What  does  she  do  to  tire  her  ?'  demanded  Mr.  Freddy.  'Hasn't 
she  been  amusing  herself  in  Norway?' 

'  Since  she  came  back  she's  been  helping  my  sister  and  me  with 
a  scheme  of  ours,'  said  Lady  John. 

'She  certainly  knows  how  to  juggle  money  out  of  the  men!' 
admitted  Mrs.  Heriot. 

'It  would  sound  less  equivocal,  Lydia,  if  you  added  that  the 
money  is  to  build  baths  in  our  Shelter  for  Homeless  Wromen.' 

'Homeless  women?'  echoed  Mr.  Freddy. 

'Yes;   in  the  most  insanitary  part  of  Soho.' 

'Oh  —  a  —  really.'  Mr.  Freddy  stroked  his  smart  little  mous 
tache. 

'It  doesn't  sound  quite  in  Miss  Levering's  line,'  Farnborough 
hazarded. 


THE   CONVERT  219 

'My  dear  boy,'  said  his  hostess,  'you  know  as  little  about  what's 
in  a  woman's  line  as  most  men.' 

'  Oh,  I  say ! '     Mr.  Freddy  looked  round  with  a  laugh. 

Lord  John  threw  out  his  chest  and  dangled  his  eyeglass  with 
an  indulgent  air. 

'Philanthropy,'  he  said,  'in  a  woman  like  Miss  Levering,  is 
a  form  of  restlessness.  But  she's  a  nice  creature.  All  she  needs 
is  to  get  some  "nice"  fella  to  marry  her!' 

Mrs.  Freddy  laughingly  hooked  herself  on  her  husband's  arm. 

'Yes;  a  woman  needs  a  balance  wheel,  if  only  to  keep  her  from 
flying  back  to  town  on  a  hot  day  like  this.' 

'Who,'  demanded  the  host,  'is  proposing  anything  so ' 

'The  Elusive  One,'  said  Mrs.  Freddy. 

'Not  Miss- 

'Yes;    before  luncheon.' 

Dick  Farnborough  glanced  quickly  at  the  clock,  and  then  his 
eyes  went  questing  up  the  great  staircase.  Lady  John  had  met 
the  chorus  of  disapproval  with  — 

'She  must  be  in  London  by  three,  she  says.' 

Lord  John  stared.  '  To-day  ?  Why  she  only  came  late  last 
night !  What  must  she  go  back  for,  in  the  name  of  — 

'Well,  that  I  didn't  ask  her.  But  it  must  be  something  impor 
tant,  or  she  would  stay  and  talk  over  the  plans  for  the  new  Shelter.' 

Farnborough  had  pulled  out  his  cigarette  case  and  stepped 
out  through  the  window  into  the  garden.  But  he  went  not  as 
one  who  means  to  take  a  stroll  and  enjoy  a  smoke,  rather  as  a  man 
on  a  mission. 

A  few  minutes  after,  the  desultory  conversation  in  the  hall  was 
arrested  by  the  sound  of  voices  near  the  windows. 

They  were  in  full  view  now  —  Vida  Levering,  hatless,  a  cool 
figure  in  pearl-grey  with  a  red  umbrella;  St.  John  Greatorex, 
wearing  a  Panama  hat,  talking  and  gesticulating  with  a  small 
book,  in  which  his  fingers  still  kept  the  place;  Farnborough,  a 
little  supercilious,  looking  on. 

'  I  protest !  Good  Lord  !  what  are  the  women  of  this  country 
coming  to  ?  I  protest  against  Miss  Levering  being  carried  indoors 
to  discuss  anything  so  revolting.' 

As  Lord  John  moved  towards  the  window  the  vermilion  disk 
of  the  umbrella  closed  and  dropped  like  a  poppy  before  it  blooms. 


220  THE   CONVERT 

As  the  owner  of  it  entered  the  hall,  Greatorex  followed  in  her 
wake,  calling  out  — 

'  Bless  my  soul !  what  can  a  woman  like  you  know  about  such 
a  thing?' 

'Little  enough,'  said  Miss  Levering,  smiling  and  scattering 
good-mornings. 

'I  should  think  so  indeed!'  He  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and 
recovered  his  waggishness.  'It's  all  this  fellow  Farnborough's 
wicked  jealousy  —  routing  us  out  of  the  summer-house  where  we 
were  sitting,  perfectly  happy  —  weren't  we?' 

'Ideally,'  said  the  lady. 

'There.     You  hear!' 

He  interrupted  Lord  John's  inquiry  as  to  the  seriousness  of 
Miss  Levering's  unpopular  and  mysterious  programme  for  the 
afternoon.  But  the  lady  quietly  confirmed  it,  and  looked  over 
her  hostess's  shoulder  at  the  plan-sheet  that  Lady  John  was 
silently  holding  out  between  two  extended  hands. 

'  Haled  indoors  on  a  day  like  this '  —  Greatorex  affected  a 
mighty  scorn  of  the  document  —  '  to  talk  about  —  Public  Sanita 
tion,  forsooth !  Why,  God  bless  my  soul,  do  you  realize  that's 
drains ! ' 

'I'm  dreadfully  afraid  it  is,'  said  Miss  Levering,  smiling  down 
at  the  architectural  drawing. 

'  And  we  in  the  act  of  discussing  Italian  literature ! '  Greatorex 
held  out  the  little  book  with  an  air  of  comic  despair.  'Perhaps 
you'll  tell  me  that  isn't  a  more  savoury  topic  for  a  lady.' 

'But  for  the  tramp  population  less  conducive  to  savouriness  — 
don't  you  think  — than  baths?'     She  took  the  book  from  him, 
shutting  her  handkerchief  in  the  place  where  his  finger  had  been. 

'No,  no'  —  Greatorex,  Panama  in  hand,  was  shaking  his  pie 
bald  head  —  '  I  can't  understand  this  morbid  interest  in  vagrants. 
You're  too  —  much  too  -  Leave  it  to  others  !' 

'What  others?' 

'Oh,  the  sort  of  woman  who  smells  of  india-rubber,'  he  said, 
with  smiling  impertinence.  '  The  typical  English  spinster.  You've 
seen  her.  Italy's  full  of  her.  She  never  goes  anywhere  without 
a  mackintosh  and  a  collapsible  bath  —  rubber.  When  you  look 
at  her  it's  borne  in  upon  you  that  she  doesn't  only  smell  of  rubber. 
She  is  rubber,  too.' 


THE   CONVERT  221 

They  all  laughed. 

'Now  you  frivolous  people  go  away,'  Lady  John  said.  'We've 
only  got  a  few  minutes  to  talk  over  the  terms  of  the  late  Mr.  Bar 
low's  munificence  before  the  carriage  comes  for  Miss  Levering.' 

In  the  midsi  of  the  general  movement  to  the  garden,  Mrs. Freddy 
asked  Farnborough  did  he  know  she'd  got  that  old  horror  to  give 
Lady  John  £8000  for  her  charity  before  he  died  ? 

'Who  got  him  to?'  demanded  Greatorex. 

'Miss  Levering,'  answered  Lady  John.  'He  wouldn't  do  it 
for  me,  but  she  brought  him  round.' 

'Bah-ee  Jove  !'  said  Freddy.     'I  expect  so.' 

'Yes.'  Mrs.  Freddy  beamed  in  turn  at  her  lord  and  at  Farn 
borough  as  she  strolled  with  them  through  the  window.  'Isn't 
she  wonderful?' 

'Too  wonderful,'  said  Greatorex  to  the  lady  in  question,  lower 
ing  his  voice,  'to  waste  your  time  on  the  wrong  people.' 

'I  shall  waste  less  of  my  time  after  this.'  Miss  Levering  spoke 
thoughtfully. 

'I'm  relieved  to  hear  it.  I  can't  see  you  wheedling  money  for 
shelters  and  rot  of  that  sort  out  of  retired  grocers.' 

'You  see,  you  call  it  rot.  We  couldn't  have  got  ^8000  out  of 
you.' 

Speaking  still  lower,  'I'm  not  sure,'  he  said  slyly. 

She  looked  at  him. 

'  If  I  gave  you  that  much  —  for  your  little  projects  —  what 
would  you  give  me?'  he  demanded. 

'Barlow  didn't  ask  that.'     She  spoke  quietly. 

'Barlow!'  he  echoed,  with  a  truly  horrified  look.  'I  should 
think  not!' 

'Barlow!'  Lord  John  caught  up  the  name  on  his  way  out 
with  Jean.  'You  two  still  talking  Barlow?  How  flattered  the 
old  beggar'd  be!  Did  you  hear'  —  he  turned  back  and  linked 
his  arm  in  Greatorex's  —  'did  you  hear  what  Mrs.  Heriot  said 
about  him?  "So  kind,  so  munificent  —  so  vulgar,  poor  soul, 
we  couldn't  know  him  in  London  —  but  we  shall  meet  him  in 
heaven !"  ' 

The  two  men  went  out  chuckling. 

Jean  stood  hesitating  a  moment,  glancing  through  the  window 
at  the  laughing  men,  and  back  at  the  group  of  women,  Mrs.  Heriot 


222  THE   CONVERT 

seated  magisterially  at  the  head  of  the  writing-table,  looking  with 
inimical  eyes  at  Miss  Levering,  who  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
hall  with  head  bent  over  the  plan. 

'Sit  here,  my  dear,'  Lady  John  called  to  her.  Then  with  a 
glance  at  her  niece,  'You  needn't  stay,  Jean;  this  won't  interest 
you.' 

Miss  Levering  glanced  over  her  shoulder  as  she  moved  to  the 
chair  opposite  Lady  John,  and  in  the  tone  of  one  agreeing  with 
the  dictum  just  uttered,  'It's  only  an  effort  to  meet  the  greatest 
evil  in  the  world,'  she  said,  and  sat  down  with  her  back  to  the 
girl. 

'What  do  you  call  the  greatest  evil  in  the  world?'  Jean  asked. 

A  quick  look  passed  between  Mrs.  Heriot  and  Lady  John. 

Miss  Levering  answered  without  emphasis,  'The  helplessness 
of  women.' 

The  girl  still  stood  where  the  phrase  had  arrested  her. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  Lady  John  went  over  to  her  and 
put  an  arm  about  her  shoulder. 

'I  know,  darling,  you  can  think  of  nothing  but  "him,"  so  just 

go- 

'Indeed,  indeed,'  interrupted  the  girl,  brightly,  'I  can  think 
of  everything  better  than  I  ever  did  before.  He  has  lit  up  every 
thing  for  me  —  made  everything  vivider,  more  —  more  signifi 
cant.' 

'  Who  has  ? '  Miss  Levering  asked,  turning  round. 

As  though  she  had  not  heard,  Jean  went  on,  '  Oh,  yes,  I  don't 
care  about  other  things  less  but  a  thousand  times  more.' 

'You  are  in  love,'   said  Lady   John. 

'Oh,  that's  it.  I  congratulate  you.'  Over  her  shoulder  Miss 
Levering  smiled  at  the  girl. 

'  Well,  now '  —  Lady  John  returned  to  the  outspread  plan  — 
'this,  you  see,  obviates  the  difficulty  you  raised.' 

'Yes,  it's  a  great  improvement,'  Miss  Levering  agreed. 

Mrs.  Heriot,  joining  in  for  the  first  time,  spoke  with  emphasis  — 

'But  it's  going  to  cost  a  great  deal  more.' 

'It's  worth  it,'  said  Miss  Levering. 

'But  we'll  have  nothing  left  for  the  organ  at  St.  Pilgrim's.' 

'My  dear  Lydia,'  said  Lady  John,  'we're  putting  the  organ 
aside.' 


THE   CONVERT  223 

'We  can't  afford  to  "put  aside"  the  elevating  influence  of 
music.'  Mrs.  Heriot  spoke  with  some  asperity. 

'What  we  must  make  for,  first,  is  the  cheap  and  humanely 
conducted  lodging-house.' 

'There  are  several  of  those  already;  but  poor  St.  Pilgrim's  — 

'There  are  none  for  the  poorest  women,'  said  Miss  Levering. 

'No;  even  the  excellent  Barlow  was  for  multiplying  Rowton 
Houses.  You  can  never  get  men  to  realize  —  you  can't  always 
get  women  — 

'It's  the  work  least  able  to  wait,'  said  Miss  Levering. 

'I  don't  agree  with  you,'  Mrs.  Heriot  bridled,  'and  I  happen  to 
have  spent  a  great  deal  of  my  life  in  works  of  charity.' 

'Ah,  then,'  —  Miss  Levering  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  map  to 
Mrs.  Heriot' s  face  — 'you'll  be  interested  in  the  girl  I  saw  dying 
in  a  tramp  ward  a  little  while  ago.  Glad  her  cough  was  worse, 
only  she  mustn't  die  before  her  father.  Two  reasons.  Nobody 
but  her  to  keep  the  old  man  out  of  the  workhouse,  and  "father 
is  so  proud."  If  she  died  first,  he  would  starve  —  worst  of  all, 
he  might  hear  what  had  happened  up  in  London  to  his  girl.' 

With  an  air  of  profound  suspicion,  Mrs.  Heriot  interrupted  — 

'She  didn't  say,  I  suppose,  how  she  happened  to  fall  so  low?' 

'Yes,  she  did.  She  had  been  in  service.  She  lost  the  train 
back  one  Sunday  night,  and  was  too  terrified  of  her  employer 
to  dare  to  ring  him  up  after  hours.  The  wrong  person  found  her 
crying  on  the  platform.' 

'She  should  have  gone  to  one  of  the  Friendly  Societies/ 

'At  eleven  at  night?' 

'And  there  are  the  Rescue  Leagues.  I  myself  have  been  con 
nected  with  one  for  twenty  years  — 

'Twenty  years!'  echoed  Miss  Levering.  'Always  arriving 
"after  the  tram's  gone," -— after  the  girl  and  the  wrong  person 
have  got  to  the  journey's  end.' 

Mrs.  Heriot's  eyes  flashed,  but  before  she  could  speak  Jean 
asked  — 

'Where  is  she  now?' 

'Never  mind.'     Lady  John  turned  again  to  the  plan. 

'Two  nights  ago  she  was  waiting  at  a  street  corner  in  the  rain. 

'Near  a  public-house,  I  suppose?'  Mrs.  Heriot  threw  in. 

'Yes;    a  sort  of  public-house.     She  was  plainly  dying.    She 


224  THE   CONVERT 

was  told  she  shouldn't  be  out  in  the  rain.  "I  mustn't  go  in  yet," 
she  said.  "This  is  what  he  gave  me,"  and  she  began  to  cry.  In 
her  hand  were  two  pennies  silvered  over  to  look  like  half-crowns.' 

'I  don't  believe  that  story!'  Mrs.  Heriot  announced.  'It's 
just  the  sort  of  thing  some  sensation-monger  trumps  up.  Now, 
who  tells  you  these ? ' 

1  Several  credible  people.     I  didn't  believe  them  till ' 

'Till?'     Jean  came  nearer. 

'Till  I  saw  for  myself.' 

'Saw?1  exclaimed  Mrs.  Heriot.     'Where ?' 

'In  a  low  lodging-house  not  a  hundred  yards  from  the  church 
you  want  a  new  organ  for.' 

'How  did  you  happen  to  be  there?7 

'I  was  on  a  pilgrimage.' 

'A  pilgrimage?'  echoed  Jean. 

Miss  Levering  nodded.     'Into  the  Underworld.' 

'You  went!'     Even  Lady  John  was  aghast. 

'How  could  you?'  Jean  whispered. 

'I  put  on  an  old  gown  and  a  tawdry  hat '  She  turned 

suddenly  to  her  hostess.  'You'll  never  know  how  many  things 
are  hidden  from  a  woman  in  good  clothes.  The  bold  free  look 
of  a  man  at  a  woman  he  believes  to  be  destitute  —  you  must  feel 
that  look  on  you  before  you  can  understand  —  a  good  half  of 
history.' 

Mrs.  Heriot  rose  as  her  niece  sat  -down  on  the  footstool  just 
below  the  writing-table. 

'Where  did  you  go  —  dressed  like  that?'  the  girl  asked. 

'Down  among  the  homeless  women,  on  a  wet  night,  looking 
for  shelter.' 

'Jean  !'  called  Mrs.  Heriot. 

'No  wonder  you've  been  ill,'  Lady  John  interposed  hastily. 

'And  it's  like  that?'     Jean  spoke  under  her  breath. 

'No,'  came  the  answer,  in  the  same  hushed  tone. 

'No?' 

'It's  so  much  worse  I  dare  not  tell  about  it,  even  if  you  weren't 
here  I  couldn't.' 

But  Mrs.  Heriot's  anger  was  unappeased.  'You  needn't  sup 
pose,  darling,  that  those  wretched  creatures  feel  it  as  we 
would.' 


THE   CONVERT  225 

Miss  Levering  raised  grave  eyes.  'The  girls  who  need  shelter 
and  work  aren't  all  serving-maids.' 

'We  know,'  said  Mrs.  Heriot,  with  an  involuntary  flash,  'that 
all  the  women  who  make  mistakes  aren't.' 

'That  is  why  every  woman  ought  to  take  an  interest  in  this,' 
said  Miss  Levering,  steadily;  'every  girl,  too.' 

'Yes.     Oh,  yes!'  Jean  agreed. 

'No.'  Lady  John  was  very  decisive.  'This  is  a  matter  for 
us  older ' 

'Or  for  a  person  who  has  some  special  knowledge,'  Mrs.  Heriot 
amended,  with  an  air  of  sly  challenge.  'We  can't  pretend  to 
have  access  to  such  sources  of  information  as  Miss  Levering.' 

'Yes,  you  can'  —  she  met  Mrs.  Heriot's  eye  —  'for  I  can  give 
you  access.  As  you  suggest,  I  have  some  personal  knowledge 
about  homeless  girls.' 

'Well,  my  dear' — with  a  manufactured  cheerfulness  Lady 
John  turned  it  aside  —  'it  will  all  come  in  convenient.'  She 
tapped  the  plan. 

Miss  Levering  took  no  notice.  'It  once  happened  to  me  to 
take  offence  at  an  ugly  thing  that  was  going  on  under  my  father's 
roof.  Oh,  years  ago!  I  was  an  impulsive  girl.  I  turned  my 
back  on  my  father's  house.' 

'That  was  ill-advised.'     Lady  John  glanced  at  her  niece. 

'So  all  my  relations  said'  —  Miss  Levering,  too,  looked  at 
Jean  —  'and  I  couldn't  explain.' 

'Not  to  your  mother?'  the  girl  asked. 

'My  mother  was  dead.  I  went  to  London  to  a  small  hotel, 
and  tried  to  find  employment.  I  wandered  about  all  day  and 
every  day  from  agency  to  agency.  I  was  supposed  to  be  edu 
cated.  I'd  been  brought  up  partly  in  Paris,  I  could  play  several 
instruments  and  sing  little  songs  in  four  different  tongues.' 

In  the  pause  Jean  asked,  '  Did  nobody  want  you  to  teach  French 
or  sing  the  little  songs?' 

'The  heads  of  schools  thought  me  too  young.  There  were 
people  ready  to  listen  to  my  singing.  But  the  terms,  they  were 
too  hard.  Soon  my  money  was  gone.  I  began  to  pawn  my 
trinkets.  They  went.' 

'And  still  no  work?' 

'No;  but  by  that  time  I  had  some  real  education  —  an  unpaid 


226  THE   CONVERT 

hotel  bill,  and  not  a  shilling  in  the  world.  Some  girls  think  it 
hardship  to  have  to  earn  their  living.  The  horror  is  not  to  be 
allowed  to.' 

Jean  bent  forward.     'What  happened ?' 

Lady  John  stood  up.  'My  dear,'  she  asked  her  visitor,  'have 
your  things  been  sent  down?' 

'Yes.     I  am  quite  ready,  all  but  my  hat.' 

'Well?'  insisted  Jean. 

'Well,  by  chance  I  met  a  friend  of  my  family.' 

'That  was  lucky.' 

'I  thought  so.  He  was  nearly  ten  years  older  than  I.  He 
said  he  wanted  to  help  me.'  Again  she  paused. 

'And  didn't  he?'  Jean  asked. 

Lady  John  laid  her  hand  on  Miss  Levering's  shoulder. 

'Perhaps,  after  all,  he  did,'  she  said.  'Why  do  I  waste  time 
over  myself?  I  belonged  to  the  little  class  of  armed  women. 
My  body  wasn't  born  weak,  and  my  spirit  wasn't  broken  by  the 
habit  of  slavery.  But,  as  Mrs.  Heriot  was  kind  enough  to  hint, 
I  do  know  something  about  the  possible  fate  of  homeless  girls. 
What  was  true  a  dozen  years  ago  is  true  to-day.  There  are  pleas 
ant  parks,  museums,  free  libraries  in  our  great  rich  London,  and 
not  one  single  place  where  destitute  women  can  be  sure  of  work 
that  isn't  killing,  or  food  that  isn't  worse  than  prison  fare.  That's 
why  women  ought  not  to  sleep  o'  nights  till  this  Shelter  stands 
spreading  out  wide  arms.' 

'No,  no,'  said  the  girl,  jumping  up. 

'Even  when  it's  built,'  —  Mrs.  Heriot  was  angrily  gathering 
up  her  gloves,  her  fan  and  her  Prayer-book  —  '  you'll  see  !  Many 
of  those  creatures  will  prefer  the  life  they  lead.  They  like  it. 
A  woman  told  me  —  one  of  the  sort  that  knows  —  told  me  many 
of  them  like  it  so  much  that  they  are  indifferent  to  the  risk  of 
being  sent  to  prison.  "//  gives  them  a  rest"  '  she  said. 

'A  rest!'  breathed  Lady  John,  horror-struck. 

Miss  Levering  glanced  at  the  clock  as  she  rose  to  go  upstairs, 
while  Lady  John  and  Mrs.  Heriot  bent  their  heads  over  the  plan 
covertly  talking. 

Jean  ran  forward  and  caught  the  tall  grey  figure  on  the  lower  step. 

'  I  want  to  begin  to  understand  something  of ,'  she  began 

in  a  beseeching  tone.     'I'm  horribly  ignorant.' 


THE   CONVERT  227 

Miss  Levering  looked  down  upon  her  searchingly.  'I'm  a 
rather  busy  person/  she  said. 

'I  have  a  quite  special  reason  for  wanting  not  to  be  ignorant. 
I'll  go  to  town  to-morrow,'  said  Jean,  impulsively,  'if  you'll  come 
and  lunch  with  me  —  or  let  me  come  to  you.' 

'Jean  !'     It  was  Aunt  Lydia's  voice. 

'I  must  go  and  put  my  hat  on,'  said  Miss  Levering,  hurrying 
up  the  stair. 

Mrs.  Heriot  bent  towards  her  sister  and  half  whispered,  'How 
little  she  minds  talking  about  horrors ! ' 

'  They  turn  me  cold.  Ugh !  I  wonder  if  she's  signed  the 
visitor's  book.'  Lady  John  rose  with  harassed  look.  'Such 
foolishness  John's  new  plan  of  keeping  it  in  the  lobby.  It's 
twice  as  likely  to  be  forgotten.' 

'For  all  her  Shelter  schemes,  she's  a  hard  woman/  said  Aunt 
Lydia. 

'Miss  Levering  is!'  exclaimed  Jean. 

'  Oh,  of  course  you  won't  think  so.  She  has  angled  very  adroitly 
for  your  sympathy.' 

'She  doesn't  look '  protested  the  girl. 

Lady  John,  glancing  at  her  niece,  seemed  in  some  intangible 
way  to  take  alarm. 

'  I'm  not  sure  but  what  she  does.  Her  mouth  —  always  like 
this  —  as  if  she  were  holding  back  something  by  main  force.' 

'Well,  so  she  is,'  slipped  out  from  between  Aunt  Lydia's  thin 
lips  as  Lady  John  disappeared  into  the  lobby. 

'Why  haven't  I  seen  Miss  Levering  before  this  summer ?' 
Jean  asked. 

'Oh,  she's  lived  abroad.'  The  lady  was  debating  with  herself. 
'  You  don't  know  about  her,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know  how  Aunt  Ellen  came  across  her,  if  that's  what 
you  mean.' 

'Her  father  was  a  person  everybody  knew.  One  of  his  daugh 
ters  made  a  very  good  marriage.  But  this  one  —  I  didn't  bargain 
for  you  and  Hermione  getting  mixed  up  with  her.' 

'  I  don't  see  that  we're  either  of  us  —  But  Miss  Levering 
seems  to  go  everywhere.  Why  shouldn't  she?' 

With  sudden  emphasis,  '  You  mustn't  ask  her  to  Eaton  Square/ 
said  Aunt  Lydia. 


228  THE   CONVERT 

'I  have.' 

Mrs.  Heriot  half  rose  from  her  seat.  'Then  you'll  have  to 
get  out  of  it!' 

'Why?' 

'I  am  sure  your  grandfather  would  agree  with  me.  I  warn 
you  I  won't  stand  by  and  see  that  woman  getting  you  into  her 
clutches.' 

'  Clutches  ?   Why  should  you  think  she  wants  me  in  her  clutches  ? ' 

'Just  for  the  pleasure  of  clutching!  She's  the  kind  that's 
never  satisfied  till  she  has  everybody  in  the  pitiful  state  your 
Aunt  Ellen's  in  about  her.  Richard  Farnborough,  too,  just  on 
the  very  verge  of  asking  Hermione  to  marry  him ! ' 

'  Oh,  is  that  it  ? '  the  girl  smiled  wisely. 

'No!'  Too  late  Mrs.  Heriot  saw  her  misstep.  'That's  not 
it !  And  I  am  sure,  if  Mr.  Stonor  knew  what  I  do,  he  would  agree 
with  me  that  you  must  not  ask  her  to  the  house.' 

'  Of  course  I'd  do  anything  he  asked  me  to.  But  he  would  give 
me  a  reason.  And  a  very  good  reason,  too  ! '  The  pretty  face  was 
very  stubborn. 

Aunt  Lydia's  wore  the  inflamed  look  not  so  much  of  one  who  is 
angry  as  of  a  person  who  has  a  cold  in  the  head. 

'I'll  give  you  the  reason  !'  she  said.  'It's  not  a  thing  I  should 
have  preferred  to  tell  you,  but  I  know  how  difficult  you  are  to  guide 
—  so  I  suppose  you'll  have  to  know.'  She  looked  round  and  low 
ered  her  voice.  'It  was  ten  or  twelve  years  ago.  I  found  her 
horribly  ill  in  a  lonely  Welsh  farmhouse.' 

'  Miss  Levering  ? ' 

Mrs.  Heriot  nodded.  'We  had  taken  the  Manor  for  that  Au 
gust.  The  farmer's  wife  was  frightened,  and  begged  me  to  go  and 
see  what  I  thought.  I  soon  saw  how  it  was  —  I  thought  she  was 
dying.' 

'  Dying  ?    What  was  the 

'I  got  no  more  out  of  her  than  the  farmer's  wife  did.  She  had 
no  letters.  There  had  been  no  one  to  see  her  except  a  man  down 
from  London,  a  shady-looking  doctor  —  nameless,  of  course. 
And  then  this  result.  The  farmer  and  his  wife,  highly  respectable 
people,  were  incensed.  They  were  for  turning  the  girl  out.' 

'Oh!  but ' 

'Yes.     Pitiless  some  of  these  people  are!     Although  she  had 


THE   CONVERT  229 

forfeited  all  claim  —  still  she  was  a  daughter  of  Sir  Hervey  Lever 
ing.  I  insisted  they  should  treat  the  girl  humanely,  and  we  became 
friends  —  that  is,  "sort  of."  In  spite  of  all  I  did  for  her  — 

'What  did  you  do?' 

'I  —  I've  told  you,  and  I  lent  her  money.  No  small  sum 
either ' 

'  Has  she  never  paid  it  back  ? ' 

'  Oh,  yes ;  after  a  time.  But  I  always  kept  her  secret  —  as 
much  as  I  knew.' 

'  But  you've  been  telling  me  — 

'That  was  my  duty  —  and  I  never  had  her  full  confidence.' 

'Wasn't  it  natural  she  - 

'Well,  all  things  considered,  she  might  have  wanted  to  tell  me 
who  was  responsible.' 

'Oh,  Aunt  Lydia.' 

'All  she  ever  said  was  that  she  was  ashamed' -- Mrs.  Heriot 
was  fast  losing  her  temper  and  her  fine  feeling  for  the  innocence  of 
her  auditor  —  'ashamed  that  she  "hadn't  had  the  courage  to  re 
sist"  —  not  the  original  temptation,  but  the  pressure  brought  to 
bear  on  her  "not  to  go  through  with  it,"  as  she  said.' 

With  a  shrinking  look  the  girl  wrinkled  her  brows.  'You  are 
being  so  delicate  —  I'm  not  sure  I  understand.' 

'The  only  thing  you  need  understand,'  said  her  aunt,  irritably, 
'is  that  she's  not  a  desirable  companion  for  a  young  girl.' 

There  was  a  pause. 

'  When  did  you  see  her  after  —  after ' 

Mrs.  Heriot  made  a  slight  grimace.  'I  met  her  last  winter  at 
—  of  all  places  —  the  Bishop's  I' 

'They're  relations  of  hers.' 

'Yes.  It  was  while  you  were  in  Scotland.  They'd  got  her  to 
help  with  some  of  their  work.  Now  she's  taken  hold  of  ours. 
Your  aunt  and  uncle  are  quite  foolish  about  her,  and  I'm  debarred 
from  taking  any  steps,  at  least  till  the  Shelter  is  out  of  hand.' 

The  girl's  face  was  shadowed  —  even  a  little  frightened.  It  was 
evident  she  was  struggling  not  to  give  way  altogether  to  alarm 
and  repulsion. 

'I  do  rather  wonder  that  after  that,  she  can  bring  herself  to  talk 
about  —  the  unfortunate  women  of  the  world.' 

'  The  effrontery  of  it ! '   said  her  aunt. 


23o  THE   CONVERT 

'  Or  —  the  courage  ! '  The  girl  put  her  hand  up  to  her  throat 
as  if  the  sentence  had  caught  there. 

'  Even  presumes  to  set  me  right !  Of  course  I  don't  mind  in  the 
least,  poor  soul  —  but  I  feel  I  owe  it  to  your  dead  mother  to  tell 
you  about  her,  especially  as  you're  old  enough  now  to  know  some 
thing  about  life.' 

'And  since  a  girl  needn't  be  very  old  to  suffer  for  her  ignorance' 
—  she  spoke  slowly,  moving  a  little  away.  But  she  stopped  on  the 
final  sentence :  '  I  felt  she  was  rather  wonderful ! ' 

'Wonderful!' 

'  To  have  lived  through  that,  when  she  was  —  how  old  ? ' 

Mrs.  Heriot  rose  with  an  increased  irritation.  'Nineteen  or 
thereabouts.' 

'  Five  years  younger  than  I ! '  Jean  sat  down  on  the  divan  and 
stared  at  the  floor.  'To  be  abandoned,  and  to  come  out  of  it  like 
this!' 

Mrs.  Heriot  went  to  her  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder. 

'  It  was  too  bad  to  have  to  tell  you  such  a  sordid  story  to-day  of 
all  days.' 

'It  is  a  terrible  story,  but  this  wasn't  a  bad  time.  I  feel  very 
sorry  to-day  for  women  who  aren't  happy.'  She  started  as  a 
motor-horn  was  faintly  heard.  'That's  Geoffrey  1'  She  jumped 
to  her  feet. 

'  Mr.  Stonor.     What  makes  you  think ? ' 

'Yes,  yes.  I'm  sure.  I'm  sure!'  Every  shadow  fled  out  of 
her  face  in  the  sudden  burst  of  sunshine. 

Lord  John  hurried  in  from  the  garden  as  the  motor-horn  sounded 
louder. 

'  Who  do  you  think  is  coming  round  the  drive  ? ' 

Jean  caught  hold  of  him.  'Oh,  dear!  are  those  other  people 
all  about  ?  How  am  I  ever  going  to  be  able  to  behave  like  a  girl 
who  —  who  isn't  engaged  to  the  only  man  in  the  world  worth 
marrying ! ' 

'  You  were  expecting  Mr.  Stonor  all  the  time ! '  exclaimed  Aunt 
Lydia. 

'He  promised  he'd  come  to  luncheon  if  it  was  humanly  possible. 
I  was  afraid  to  tell  you  for  fear  he'd  be  prevented.' 

Lord  John  was  laughing  as  he  went  towards  the  lobby.  'You 
felt  we  couldn't  have  borne  the  disappointment!' 

'I  felt  I  couldn't,'  said  the  girl,  standing  there  with  a  rapt  look. 


CHAPTER   XV 

SHE  did  not  look  round  when  Dick  Farnborough  ran  in  from 
the  garden,  saying:  'Is  it  —  is  it  really?'  For  just  then  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  great  hall,  the  centre  of  a  little  buzz  of  wel 
come,  Stonor's  tall  figure  appeared  between  host  and  hostess. 

'What  luck!'  Farnborough  said  under  his  breath. 

He  hurried  back  and  faced  the  rest  of  the  party  who  were  clus 
tered  outside  the  window  trying  to  look  unconcerned. 

'Yes,  by  Jove  I'  he  set  their  incredulity  at  rest.     'It  is/9 

Discreetly  they  glanced  and  craned  and  then  elaborately  turned 
their  backs,  pretending  to  be  talking  among  themselves.  But,  as 
though  the  girl  standing  there  expectant  in  the  middle  of  the  hall 
were  well  aware  of  the  enormous  sensation  the  new  arrival  had 
created,  she  herself  contributed  nothing  to  it.  Stonor  came  for 
ward,  and  she  met  him  with  a  soft,  happy  look,  and  the  low  words : 
'  What  a  good  thing  you  managed  it ! '  Then  she  made  way  for 
Mrs.  Heriot's  far  more  impressive  greeting,  innocent  of  the  small 
est  reminder  of  the  last  encounter ! 

It  was  Lord  John  who  cut  these  amenities  short  by  chaffing 
Stonor  for  being  so  enterprising  all  of  a  sudden.  'Fancy  your 
motoring  out  of  town  to  see  a  supporter  on  Sunday ! ' 

'I  don't  know  how  we  ever  covered  the  ground  in  the  old  days,' 
he  answered.  'It's  no  use  to  stand  for  your  borough  any  more. 
The  American,  you  know,  he  "runs"  for  Congress.  By-and-by 
we  shall  all  be  flying  after  the  thing  we  want.'  He  smiled  at  Jean. 

'  Sh ! '  She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  and  spoke  low.  *  All  sorts 
of  irrelevant  people  here.' 

One  of  them,  unable  any  longer  to  resist  the  temptation,  was 
making  a  second  foray  into  the  hall. 

'How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Stonor?'  Farnborough  stood  there  hold 
ing  out  his  hand. 

The  great  man  seemed  not  to  see  it,  but  he  murmured,  'How 
do  you  do  ? '  and  proceeded  to  share  with  Lady  John  his  dislike 

231 


232  THE   CONVERT 

of  any  means  of  locomotion  except  his  own  legs  or  those  of  a  horse. 

It  took  a  great  deal  to  disconcert  Farnborough.  'Some  of  us 
were  arguing  in  the  smoking-room  last  night/  he  said,  'whether 
it  didn't  hurt  a  candidate's  chances  going  about  in  a  motor.' 

As  Mr.  Stonor,  not  deigning  to  reply  to  this,  paused  the  merest 
instant  in  what  he  was  saying  to  his  hostess,  Lord  John  came  to  the 
rescue  of  the  audacious  young  gentleman. 

'  Yes,  we've  been  hearing  a  great  many  stories  about  the  unpopu 
larity  of  motor-cars  —  among  the  class  that  hasn't  got  'em,  of 
course.' 

'I'm  sure,'  Lady  John  put  in,  'you  gain  more  votes  by  being  able 
to  reach  so  many  more  of  your  constituents  than  we  used  — 

'Well,  I  don't  know,'  said  Stonor.  'I've  sometimes  wondered 
whether  the  charm  of  our  presence  wasn't  counterbalanced  by  the 
way  we  tear  about  smothering  our  fellow-beings  in  dust  and  run 
ning  down  their  pigs  and  chickens,  —  not  to  speak  of  their  chil 
dren.' 

'What  on  the  whole  are  the  prospects?'  Lord  John  asked. 

'We  shall  have  to  work  harder  than  we  realized,'  Stonor 
answered  gravely. 

Farnborough  let  slip  an  '  Ah,  I  said  so  ! '  meant  for  Lady  John, 
and  then  before  Stonor's  raised  eyes,  the  over-zealous  young  poli 
tician  retreated  towards  the  window  —  but  with  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  head  held  high,  like  one  who  has  made  his  mark. 
And  so  in  truth  he  had.  For  Lady  John  let  drop  one  or  two  good- 
natured  phrases  —  what  he  had  done,  his  hero-worship,  his  mother 
had  been  a  Betham  —  Yes,  he  was  one  of  the  Farnboroughs  of 
Moore  Abbey.  Though  Stonor  made  no  comment  beyond  a  dry, 
'The  staple  product  of  this  country,  young  men  like  that!'  —  it 
appeared  later  that  Lady  John's  good  offices  in  favour  of  a  probable 
nephew-in-law  had  not  been  invoked  in  vain. 

Despite  the  menace  of  'the  irrelevant'  dotting  the  lawn  imme 
diately  outside  the  windows,  the  little  group  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  hall  still  stood  there  talking  in  low  tones  with  the  sense  of  in 
timacy  which  belongs  to  a  family  party. 

Jean  had  slipped  her  arm  in  her  uncle's,  and  was  smiling  at 
Stonor  — 

'He  says  he  believes  I'll  be  able  to  make  a  real  difference  to  his 
chances,'  she  said,  half  aside.  'Isn't  it  angelic  of  him?' 


THE   CONVERT  233 

'Angelic?'  laughed  the  great  man.  'Macchiavellian.  I  pin 
all  my  hopes  on  your  being  able  to  counteract  the  pernicious  in 
fluence  of  my  opponent's  glib  wife.' 

'  You  want  me  to  have  a  real  share  in  it  all,  don't  you,  Geoffrey  ? ' 

'  Of  course  I  do.'     He  smiled  into  her  eyes. 

That  moth  Farnborough,  whirling  in  the  political  effulgence, 
was  again  hovering  on  the  outskirts.  He  even  made  conversation 
to  Mrs.  Heriot,  as  an  excuse  to  remain  inside  the  window. 

'But  you  don't  mean  seriously,'  Lord  John  asked  his  guest, 
'you  don't  mean,  do  you,  that  there's  any  possible  complication 
about  your  seat  ? ' 

'  Oh,  I  dare  say  it's  all  right'  —  Stonor  drew  a  Sunday  paper  out 
of  his  pocket.  'There's  this  agitation  about  the  Woman  Ques 
tion.  Oddly  enough,  it  seems  as  if  it  might  —  there's  just  the  off- 
chance  —  it  might  affect  the  issue.' 

'Affect  it?  How?  God  bless  my  soul!'  Lord  John's  trans 
parent  skin  flushed  up  to  his  white  hair.  '  Don't  tell  me  any  re 
sponsible  person  is  going  even  to  consider  the  lunacy  of  tampering 
with  the  British  Constitution 

'We  have  heard  that  suggested,  though  for  better  reasons,' 
Stonor  laughed,  but  not  Lord  John. 

'Turn  over  the  destinies  of  the  Empire,'  he  said  hotly,  '  to  a  lot 
of  ignorant  women  just  because  a  few  of  'em  have  odious  manners 
and  violent  tongues ! '  The  sight  of  Stonor's  cool  impassivity 
calmed  him  somewhat.  He  went  on  more  temperately.  'Every 
sane  person  sees  that  the  only  trouble  with  England  to-day  is  that 
too  many  ignorant  people  have  votes  already.' 

'The  penalty  we  pay  for  being  more  republican  than  the  Re 
publics.' 

Lord  John  had  picked  up  the  Sunday  paper  and  glanced  down 
a  column. 

'If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  you  can  do  what  the  other 
four  hundred  have  done.' 

'Easily!  But  the  mere  fact  that  four  hundred  and  twenty 
members  have  been  worried  into  promising  support  —  and  then, 
once  in  the  House,  have  let  the  matter  severely  alone  — 

'  Let  it  alone  ? '  Lord  John  burst  out  again.  '  I  should  think  so 
indeed ! ' 

'Yes,'  laughed  Stonor,  'only  it's  a  device  that's  somewhat  worn.' 


234  THE   CONVERT 

'Still,'  Lord  John  put  on  a  Macchiavellian  air  that  sat  rather 
incongruously  on  his  honest  English  face, '  Still,  if  they  think  they're 
getting  a  future  Cabinet  Minister  on  their  side  — 

'It  will  be  sufficiently  embarrassing  for  the  Cabinet  Minister.' 

Stonor  caught  sight  of  Farnborough  approaching  and  lowered 
his  voice.  He  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  end  of  the  wide  mantelpiece 
and  gave  his  attention  exclusively  to  Lord  John,  seeming  to  ignore 
even  the  pretty  girl  who  still  stood  by  her  uncle  with  a  hand  slipped 
through  his  arm. 

'Nobody  says  much  about  it,'  Stonor  went  on,  'but  it's  realized 
that  the  last  Labour  member,  and  that  Colne  Valley  Socialist  — 
those  men  got  in  largely  through  the  tireless  activity  of  the  women.' 

'  The  Suffragettes  ! '  exclaimed  the  girl, '  they  were  able  to  do  that  ? ' 

'They're  always  saying  they  don't  favour  any  party,'  said  a 
voice. 

Stonor  looked  up,  and,  to  Jean's  obvious  relief,  refrained  from 
snubbing  the  irrepressible  Farnborough. 

'I  don't  know  what  they  say  —  — '  began  Stonor. 

'  Oh,  /  do  ! '  Farnborough  interrupted.  '  They're  not  for 
anybody.  They're  simply  agin  the  Government.' 

'Whatever  they  say,  they're  all  Socialists.'  Lord  John  gave 
a  snort. 

'No,'  said  Farnborough,  with  cool  audacity.  'It  only  looks 
like  that.' 

Jean  turned  quite  pink  with  anxiety.     She,  and  all  who  knew 
him  well,  had  seen  Stonor  crush  the  cocksure  and    the  unwary 
with  an  awful  effectualness.     But  Farnborough,  with  the  courage 
of  enthusiasm  —  enthusiasm  for  himself  and  his  own  future  - 
went  stoutly  on. 

'There  are  Liberals  and  even  Unionists  among  'em.  And  they 
do  manage  to  hold  the  balance  pretty  even.  I  go  and  hear  them, 
you  see ! ' 

'And  speaking  from  the  height  of  your  advantage,'  although 
Stonor  was  slightly  satirical,  he  was  exercising  an  exceptional  for 
bearance,  '  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  they  are  not  more  in  sympathy 
with  the  Labour  party  than  with  any  other  ? ' 

'If  they  are,  it's  not  because  the  Suffragists  are  all  for  Socialism. 
But  because  the  Labour  party  is  the  only  one  that  puts  Women's 
Suffrage  in  the  forefront  of  its  programme.' 


THE   CONVERT  235 

Stonor  took  his  elbow  off  the  mantel.  'Whatever  the  reason/ 
he  said  airily,  'the  result  is  momentarily  inconvenient.  Though 
I  am  one  of  those  who  think  it  would  be  easy  to  overestimate  the 
importance  — 

He  broke  off  with  an  effect  of  dismissing  both  the  matter  and 
the  man.  As  he  turned  away,  he  found  himself  without  the  smallest 
warning  face  to  face  with  Vida. Levering.  She  had  come  down 
the  great  staircase  unobserved  and  unobserving;  her  head  bent, 
and  she  in  the  act  of  forcing  a  recalcitrant  hatpin  through  her  hat 
—  doing  it  under  certain  disadvantages,  as  she  held  her  gloves 
and  her  veil  in  one  hand. 

As  she  paused  there,  confronting  the  tall  figure  of  the  new-comer, 
although  it  was  obvious  that  her  unpreparedness  was  not  less  than 
his  own,  there  was  to  the  most  acute  eye  nothing  in  the  remotest 
degree  dramatic  about  the  encounter  —  hardly  more  than  a  cool 
surprise,  and  yet  there  was  that  which  made  Jean  say,  smiling  — 

'  Oh,  you  know  one  another  already  ? ' 

'Everybody  in  this  part  of  the  world  knows  Mr.  Stonor/  the 
lady  said,  'but  he  doesn't  know  me.' 

'  This  is  Miss  Levering.     You  knew  her  father,  didn't  you  ? ' 

Even  before  Lady  John  had  introduced  them,  the  people  in  the 
garden  seemed  not  to  be  able  to  support  the  prospect  of  Miss 
Levering's  threatened  monopoly  of  the  lion.  They  swarmed  in  — 
Hermione  Heriot  and  Paul  Filey  appearing  for  the  first  time  since 
church  —  they  overflowed  into  the  Hall,  while  Jean  Dunbarton, 
with  artless  enthusiasm,  was  demanding  of  Miss  Levering  if  the 
reason  she  knew  Mr.  Stonor  was  that  she  had  been  hearing  him 
speak. 

'Yes,'  the  lady  met  his  eyes,  'I  was  visiting  some  relations  near 
Dutfield.  They  took  me  to  hear  you.' 

'  Oh — the  night  the  Suffragettes  made  their  customary  row ' 

'They  didn't  attack  you,'  she  reminded  him. 

'  They  will  if  we  win  the  election  ! '  he  said,  with  a  cynical  an 
ticipation. 

It  was  a  mark  of  how  far  the  Women's  Cause  had  travelled  that, 
although  there  was  no  man  there  (except  the  ineffectual  Farn- 
borough)  —  no  one  to  speak  of  it  even  with  tolerance,  there  was 
also  no  one,  not  even  Greatorex,  who  any  longer  felt  the  matter 
to  be  much  of  a  joke.  Here  again  in  this  gathering  was  happening 


236  THE   CONVERT 

what  the  unprejudiced  observer  was  seeing  in  similar  circumstances 
all  over  England.  The  mere  mention  of  Women's  Suffrage  in 
general  society  (rarest  of  happenings  now)  —  that  topic  which 
had  been  the  prolific  mother  of  so  much  merriment,  bred  in  these 
days  but  silence  and  constraint.  The  quickest-witted  changed  the 
topic  amid  a  general  sense  of  grateful  relief.  The  thing  couldn't 
be  laughed  at  any  longer,  but  it  could  still  be  pretended  it  wasn't 
there. 

'You've  come  just  in  time  to  rescue  me!'  Mrs.  Freddy  said, 
sparkling  at  Stonor. 

'You  don't  appear  to  be  in  any  serious  danger/  he  said. 

'But  I  am,  or  I  was  I  They  were  just  insisting  I  should  go  up 
stairs  and  change  my  frock.' 

'  Is  there  anybody  here  so  difficult  as  not  to  like  that  one  ? ' 

She  made  him  a  smart  little  curtsey.  '  Although  we're  going  to 
have  luncheon  in  less  than  an  hour,  somebody  was  going  to  insist 
(out  of  pure  mistaken  philanthropy)  in  taking  me  for  a  walk.  I've 
told  Freddy  that  when  I've  departed  for  realms  of  bliss,  he  is  to  put 
on  my  tombstone,  "Died  of  changing  her  clothes."  I  know  the 
end  will  come  some  Sunday.  We  appear  at  breakfast  dressed  for 
church.  That's  a  long  skirt.  We  are  usually  shooed  upstairs 
directly  we  get  back,  to  put  on  a  short  one,  so  that  we  can  go  and 
look  at  the  kennels  or  the  prize  bull.  We  come  back  muddy  and 
smelling  of  stables.  We  get  into  something  fresh  for  luncheon. 
After  luncheon  some  one  says,  "Walk!"  Another  short  skirt. 
We  come  back  draggled  and  dreadful.  We  change.  Something 
sweetly  feminine  for  tea !  The  gong.  We  rush  and  dress  for 
dinner!  You've  saved  me  one  change,  anyhow.  You  are  my 
benefactor.  Why  don't  you  ask  after  my  babies?' 

'Well,  how  are  the  young  barbarians?'  He  rubbed  his  hand 
over  the  lower  part  of  his  face.  'Your  concern  for  personal  ap 
pearance  reminds  me  that  a  little  soap  and  water  after  my  dusty 
drive ' 

Little  as  had  fallen  from  him  since  his  entrance,  as  he  followed 
Lord  John  upstairs,  he  left  behind  that  sense  of  blankness  so 
curiously  independent  of  either  words  or  deeds.  Greatorex,  in 
his  patent  leather  shoes  and  immaculate  white  gaiters,  pattered 
over  to  Miss  Levering,  but  she  unkindly  presented  her  back,  and 
sat  down  at  the  writing-table  to  make  a  note  on  the  abhorred 


THE   CONVERT  237 

Shelter  plan.  He  showed  his  disapproval  by  marching  off  with 
Mr.  Freddy,  and  there  was  a  general  trickling  back  into  the 
garden  in  that  aimless,  before-luncheon  mood. 

But  Mrs.  Heriot  and  Lady  John  sat  with  their  heads  close  to 
gether  on  the  sofa,  discussing  in  undertones  the  absorbing  subject 
of  the  prospective  new  member  of  the  family. 

Mrs.  Freddy  perched  on  the  edge  of  the  writing-table  between 
Miss  Levering,  who  sat  in  front  of  it,  and  Jean,  whose  chair  was 
on  the  other  side.  She  was  nearest  Jean,  but  it  was  to  her  chil 
dren's  sworn  friend  that  she  turned  to  say  enthusiastically  — 

'  Delightful  his  coming  in  like  that ! '  And  no  one  needed  to  be 
told  whose  coming  brought  delight.  *  We  must  tell  Sara  and  Cecil.' 

As  Miss  Levering  seemed  to  be  still  absorbed  in  making  notes 
on  that  boring  plan,  the  lively  Mrs.  Freddy  turned  to  her  other 
neighbour. 

'Penny  for  your  thoughts,'  she  demanded  with  such  suddenness 
that  Jean  Dunbarton  started  and  reddened.  *  Something  very 
weighty,  to  judge  from  — 

'I  believe  I  was  thinking  it  was  rather  odd  to  hear  two  men 
like  my  uncle  and  Mr.  Stonor  talking  about  the  influence  of  the 
Suffrage  women  really  quite  seriously.  Oh!1  —  she  clutched  Mrs. 
Freddy's  arm,  laughing  apologetically — 'I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  forgot.  Besides,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  your  kind ;  I  was  think 
ing  of  the  Suffragettes.' 

'As  the  only  conceivable  ones  to  be  exercising  any  influence. 
Thank  you.' 

1  Oh,  no,  no.     Indeed,  I  didn't  mean ' 

'Yes,  you  did.  You're  like  the  rest.  You  don't  realize  how 
we  prepared  the  ground.  All  the  same,'  she  went  on,  with  her 
unfailing  good  humour,  'it's  frightfully  exciting  seeing  the  Ques 
tion  come  into  practical  politics  at  last.  I  only  hope  those  women 
won't  go  and  upset  the  apple-cart  again.' 

'How?'  . 

'  Oh,  by  doing  something  that  will  alienate  all  our  good  friends 
in  both  parties.  It's  queer  they  can't  see  our  only  chance  to  get 
what  we  want  is  by  winning  over  the  men.' 

There  was  a  low  sound  of  impatience  from  the  person  at  the 
writing-table,  and  a  rustle  of  paper  as  the  plan  was  thrown  down. 

'What's  the  matter?'   said  Mrs.  Freddy. 


238  THE   CONVERT 

"'Winning  over  the  men"  has  been  the  woman's  way  since  the 
Creation.  Do  you  think  the  result  should  make  us  proud  of  our 
policy?  Yes ?  Then  go  and  walk  in  Piccadilly  at  midnight.' 

Lady  John  and  Mrs.  Heriot  rose  as  one,  while  Miss  Levering 
was  adding  — 

'No,  I  forgot ' 

'Yes,'  interposed  Mrs.  Heriot,  with  majesty,  'it  is  not  the  first 
time  you've  forgotten.' 

'What  I  forgot  was  the  magistrate's  ruling.  He  said  no  decent 
woman  had  any  business  to  be  in  London's  main  thoroughfares  at 
night  "  unless  she  has  a  man  with  her. "  You  can  hear  that  in 
Soho,  too.  "You're  obliged  to  take  up  with  a  chap  ! "  is  what  the 
women  say.' 

In  a  highly  significant  silence,  Mrs.  Heriot  withdrew  with  her 
niece  and  Mrs.  Freddy  to  where  Hermione  sat  contentedly  be 
tween  two  young  men  on  the  window-step.  Lady  John,  naturally 
somewhat  ruffled,  but  still  quite  kind,  bent  over  her  indiscreet 
guest  to  say  — 

'  What  an  odd  mood  you  are  in  to-day,  my  dear.  I  think  Lydia 
Heriot's  right.  We  oughtn't  to  do  anything,  or  say  anything  to 
encourage  this  ferment  of  feminism  —  and  I'll  tell  you  why  : 
it's  likely  to  bring  a  very  terrible  thing  in  its  train.' 

'What  terrible  thing?' 

'  Sex- Antagonism.' 

'It's  here.' 

'  Don't  say  that ! '     Lady  John  spoke  very  gravely. 

'You're  so  conscious  it's  here,  you're  afraid  to  have  it  men 
tioned.' 

Lady  John  perceived  that  Jean  had  quietly  slipped  away  from 
the  others,  and  was  standing  behind  her. 

If  Mrs.  Heriot  had  not  been  too  absorbed  in  Dick  Farnborough 
and  Hermione  she  would  have  had  a  moment's  pleasure  in  her 
handiwork  —  that  half-shamed  scrutiny  in  Jean  Dunbarton's 
face.  But  as  the  young  girl  studied  the  quiet  figure,  looked  into 
the  tender  eyes  that  gazed  so  steadily  into  some  grey  country  far 
away,  the  effect  of  Mrs.  Heriot's  revelation  was  either  weakened 
or  transmuted  subtly  to  something  stronger  than  the  thing  that  it 
replaced. 

As  the  woman  sat  there  leaning  her  head  a  little  wearily  on  her 


THE   CONVERT  239 

hand,  there  was  about  the  whole  Wesen  an  indefinable  nobility 
that  answered  questions  before  they  were  asked. 

But  Lady  John,  upon  perceiving  her  niece,  had  said  hurriedly  — 

'If  what  you  say  is  so,  it's  the  fault  of  those  women  agitators.' 

'  Sex- Antagonism  wasn't  their  invention,'  Miss  Levering  an 
swered.  'No  woman  begins  that  way.  Every  woman  is  in  a 
state  of  natural  subjection'  —  she  looked  up,  and  seeing  Jean's 
face,  smiled —  'no,  I'd  rather  say  "allegiance"  to  her  idea  of  ro 
mance  and  her  hope  of  motherhood;  they're  embodied  for  her 
in  man.  They're  the  strongest  things  in  life  till  man  kills  them. 
Let's  be  fair.  If  that  allegiance  dies,  each  woman  knows  why.' 

Lady  John,  always  keenly  alive  to  any  change  in  the  social  at 
mosphere,  looked  up  and  saw  her  husband  coming  downstairs 
with  their  guest.  As  she  went  to  meet  them,  Stonor  stopped  half 
way  down  to  say  something.  The  two  men  halted  there  deep  in 
discussion.  But  scarcely  deeper  than  those  other  two  Lady 
John  had  left  by  the  writing- table. 

'Who  is  it  you  are  going  to  marry?'  Miss  Levering  had 
asked. 

'It  isn't  going  to  be  announced  for  a  few  days  yet.'  And  then 
Jean  relented  enough  to  say  in  an  undertone,  almost  confidentially, 
'I  should  think  you'd  guess.' 

'Guess  what?'  said  the  other,  absent-mindedly,  but  again 
lifting  her  eyes. 

'Who  I'm  going  to  marry.' 

'Oh,  I  know  him,  then?'  she  said,  surprised. 

'Well,  you've  seen  him.' 

Miss  Levering  shook  her  head.  'There  are  so  very  many 
young  men  in  the  world.'  But  she  looked  with  a  moment's  won 
dering  towards  the  window,  seeming  to  consider  first  Filey  and  then 
Farnborough. 

'What  made  you  think  of  going  on  that  terrible  pilgrimage?' 
asked  the  girl. 

'Something  I  heard  at  a  Suffrage  meeting.' 

'Well,  do  you  know,  ever  since  that  Sunday  at  the  Freddys', 
when  you  told  us  about  the  Suffragettes,  I  —  I've  been  curious 
about  them.' 

'You  said  nothing  would  ever  induce  you  to  listen  to  such 
people.' 


24o  THE   CONVERT 

'I  know,  and  it's  rather  silly,  but  one  says  a  thing  like  that  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment,  and  then  one  is  bound  by  it.' 

'You  mean  one  imagines  one  is  bound.' 

'Then,  too,  I've  been  in  Scotland  ever  since;  but  I've  often 
thought  about  you  and  what  you  said  that  day  at  the  Freddys ' ! ' 

'  And  yet  you've  been  a  good  deal  absorbed ' 

'You  see,'  the  girl  put  on  a  pretty  little  air  of  superiority,  'it 
isn't  as  if  the  man  I'm  going  to  marry  wasn't  very  broad-minded. 
He  wants  me  to  be  intelligent  about  politics.  Are  those  women 
holding  meetings  in  London  now  as  well  as  in  the  constituencies  ? ' 

They  both  became  aware  at  the  same  moment  that  Lord  John 
was  coming  slowly  down  the  last  steps,  with  Stonor  still  more 
slowly  following,  talking  Land  Tenure.  As  Miss  Levering  rose 
and  hurriedly  turned  over  the  things  on  the  table  to  look  for  her 
veil,  the  handkerchief  she  had  shut  in  her  little  Italian  book  dropped 
out.  A  further  shifting  of  plans  and  papers  sent  it  unobserved  to 
the  floor.  Jean  put  once  more  the  question  that  had  remained 
unanswered. 

'They  collect  too  great  crowds,'  Miss  Levering  answered  her. 
'The  authorities  won't  let  them  meet  in  Trafalgar  Square  after 
to-day.  They  have  their  last  meeting  there  at  three  o'clock.' 

'To-day!  That's  no  use  to  people  out  of  town  —  unless  I 
could  invent  some  excuse ' 

'Wait  till  you  can  go  without  inventions  and  excuses.' 

'  You  think  all  that  wrong ! ' 

'I  think  it  rather  undignified.' 

'  So  do  I  —  but  if  I'm  ever  to  go ' 

Lord  John  came  forward,  leaving  Stonor  to  his  hostess.  'Still 
talking  over  your  Shelter  plan  ? '  he  asked  benevolently. 

'No,'  answered  Miss  Levering,  'we  left  the  Shelter  some  time  ago.' 

He  pinched  his  niece's  ear  with  affectionate  playfulness. 

'Then  what's  all  this  chatterment  about?' 

The  girl,  a  little  confused,  looked  at  her  fellow-conspirator. 

'The  latest  things  in  veils,'  said  Miss  Levering,  smiling,  as  she 
caught  up  hers. 

'  The  invincible  frivolity  of  women ! '  said  Lord  John,  with 
immense  geniality. 

'Oh,  they're  coming  for  you,'  Jean  said.  'Don't  forget  your 
book.  When  shall  I  see  you  again,  I  wonder  ? ' 


THE   CONVERT  241 

But  instead  of  announcing  the  carriage  the  servant  held  out  a 
salver.  On  it  lay  a  telegraph  form  scribbled  over  in  pencil. 

'A  telephone  message,  miss.' 

'  For  me  ? '  said  Jean,  in  surprise. 

'Yes,  miss.  I  didn't  know  you  was  here,  miss.  They  asked 
me  to  write  it  down,  and  let  you  have  it  as  soon  as  possible.' 

'I  knew  how  it  would  be  if  I  gave  in  about  that  telephone!' 
Lord  John  arraigned  his  wife.  Even  Mr.  Stonor  had  to  sympa 
thize.  'They  won't  leave  people  in  peace  even  one  day  in  the 
week.' 

'I've  got  your  book,'  Jean  said,  looking  at  Miss  Levering  over 
the  top  of  the  telegraph  form,  and  then  glancing  at  the  title  as  she 
restored  the  volume  to  its  owner.  '  Dante  !  Whereabouts  are  you  ? ' 
She  opened  it  without  waiting  to  hear.  'Oh,  the  Inferno.' 

'No,  I'm  in  a  worse  place,'  said  the  other,  smiling  vaguely  as 
she  drew  on  her  gloves. 

'I  didn't  know  there  was  a  worse.' 

'Yes,  it's  worse  with  the  Vigliacchi.' 

'I  forget,  were  they  Guelf  or  Ghibelline?' 

'They  weren't  either,  and  that  was  why  Dante  couldn't  stand 
them.  He  said  there  was  no  place  in  Heaven  nor  in  Purgatory  — 
not  even  a  corner  in  Hell,  for  the  souls  who  had  stood  aloof  from 
strife.'  The  smile  faded  as  she  stood  there  looking  steadily  into 
the  girl's  eyes.  'He  called  them  "wretches  who  never  lived," 
Dante  did,  because  they'd  never  felt  the  pangs  of  partisanship. 
And  so  they  wander  homeless  on  the  skirts  of  limbo,  among  the 
abortions  and  off-scourings  of  Creation.' 

The  girl  drew  a  fluttering  breath.  Miss  Levering  glanced  at 
the  clock,  and  turned  away  to  make  her  leisurely  adieux  among  the 
group  at  the  window. 

Mrs.  Heriot  left  it  at  once.  'What  was  that  about  a  telephone 
message,  Jean  darling?' 

The  girl  glanced  at  the  paper,  and  then  quite  suddenly  said  to 
Lady  John  — 

'Aunt  Ellen,  I've  got  to  go  to  London!' 

'Not  to-day!' 

'My  dear  child!' 

'  Nonsense ! ' 

'Is  your  grandfather  worse?' 


242  THE   CONVERT 

'N —  no.  I  don't  think  my  grandfather  is  any  worse.  But  I 
must  go,  all  the  same.' 

'You  can't  go  away,'  whispered  Mrs.  Heriot,  'when  Mr. 
Stonor ' 

'Back  me  up!'  Jean  whispered  to  Lady  John.  'He  said  he'd 
have  to  leave  directly  after  luncheon.  And  anyhow  —  all  these 
people  —  please  have  us  another  time.' 

Til  just  see  Miss  Levering  off,'  said  Lady  John,  'and  then  I'll 
come  back  and  talk  about  it.' 

In  the  midst  of  the  good-byeing  that  was  going  on  over  by  the 
window,  Jean  suddenly  exclaimed  — 

'There  mayn't  be  another  train!     Miss  Levering!' 

But  Stonor  was  standing  in  front  of  the  girl  barring  the  way. 
'What  if  there  isn't?  I'll  take  you  back  in  my  motor,'  he  said 
aside. 

'Will  you?'  In  her  rapture  at  the  thought  Jean  clasped  her 
hands,  and  the  paper  fluttered  to  the  floor.  'But  I  must  be  there 
by  three,'  she  said. 

He  had  picked  up  the  telegraph  form  as  well  as  the  handker 
chief  lying  near. 

'  Why,  it's  only  an  invitation  to  dine  —  Wednesday ! ' 

'  Sh  ! '     She  took  the  paper. 

'Oh!  I  see!'  He  smiled  and  lowered  his  voice.  'It's  rather 
dear  of  you  to  arrange  our  going  off  like  that.  You  are  a  clever 
little  girl!' 

'It's  not  exactly  that  I  was  arranging.  I  want  to  hear  those 
women  in  Trafalgar  Square  —  the  Suffragettes.' 

He  stared  at  her  more  than  half  incredulous,  but  smiling 
still. 

'How  perfectly  absurd  !  Besides,'  —  he  looked  across  the  room 
at  Lady  John  —  'besides,  I  expect  she  wouldn't  like  my  carrying 
you  off  like  that.' 

'Then  she'll  have  to  make  an  excuse,  and  come  too.' 

'Ah,  it  wouldn't  be  quite  the  same  if  she  did  that.' 

But  Jean  had  thought  it  out.  'Aunt  Ellen  and  I  could  get  back 
quite  well  in  time  for  dinner.' 

The  group  that  had  closed  about  the  departing  guest  dissolved. 

'Why  are  you  saying  good-bye  as  if  you  were  never  coming 
back?'  Lord  John  demanded. 


THE   CONVERT  243 

'One  never  knows,'  Miss  Levering  laughed.  ' Maybe  I  shan't 
come  back.' 

'  Don't  talk  as  if  you  meant  never !'  said  Mrs.  Freddy. 

'Perhaps  I  do  mean  never.'     She  nodded  to  Stonor. 

He  bowed  ceremoniously. 

'Never  come  back!  What  nonsense  are  you  talking ?'  said 
Lady  John. 

'Is  it  premonition  of  death,  cr  don't  you  like  us  any  more?' 
laughed  her  husband. 

The  little  group  trailed  across  the  great  room,  escorting  the  guest 
to  the  front  door,  Lady  John  leading  the  way.  As  they  passed, 
Geoffrey  Stonor  was  obviously  not  listening  very  attentively  to 
Jean's  enthusiastic  explanation  of  her  plan  for  the  afternoon.  He 
kept  his  eyes  lowered.  They  rested  on  the  handkerchief  he  had 
picked  up,  but  hardly  as  if,  after  all,  they  saw  it,  though  he  turned 
the  filmy  square  from  corner  to  corner  with  an  air  partly  of  ner 
vousness,  partly  of  abstraction. 

'Is  it  mine?'  asked  Jean. 

He  paused  an  instant.  'No.  Yours,'  he  said,  mechanically, 
and  held  out  the  handkerchief  to  Miss  Levering. 

She  seemed  not  to  hear.  Lord  John  had  blocked  the  door  a 
moment,  insisting  on  a  date  for  the  next  visit.  Jean  caught  up 
the  handkerchief  and  went  running  forward  with  it.  Suddenly 
she  stopped,  glancing  down  at  the  embroidered  corner. 

'But  that's  not  an  L !     It's  V— i— 

Stonor  turned  his  back,  and  took  up  a  magazine. 

Lady  John's  voice  sounded  clear  from  the  lobby.  'You  must 
let  Vida  go,  John,  or  she'll  miss  her  train.' 

Miss  Levering  vanished. 

' I  didn't  know  her  name  was  Vida;  how  did  you ?'  said  Jean. 

Stonor  bent  his  head  silently  over  the  book.  Perhaps  he  hadn't 
heard.  That  deafening  old  gong  was  sounding  for  luncheon. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  last  of  the  Trafalgar  Square  meetings  was  half  over  when 
the  great  chocolate-coloured  motor,  containing  three  persons  besides 
the  chauffeur,  slowed  up  on  the  west  side  of  the  square.  Neither 
of  the  two  ladies  in  their  all-enveloping  veils  was  easily  recog 
nizable,  still  less  the  be-goggled  countenance  of  the  Hon.  Geoffrey 
Stonor.  When  he  took  off  his  motor  glasses,  he  did  not  turn  down 
his  dust  collar.  He  even  pulled  farther  over  his  eyes  the  peak  of 
his  linen  cap. 

By  coming  at  all  on  this  expedition,  he  had  given  Jean  a  signal 
proof  of  his  desire  to  please  her  —  but  it  was  plain  that  he  had  no 
mind  to  see  in  the  papers  that  he  had  been  assisting  at  such  a 
spectacle.  While  he  gave  instructions  as  to  where  the  car  should 
wait,  Jean  was  staring  at  the  vast  crowd  massed  on  the  north  side 
of  the  column.  It  extended  back  among  the  fountains,  and  even 
escaped  on  each  side  beyond  the  vigilance  of  the  guardian  lions. 
There  were  scores  listening  there  who  could  not  see  the  speakers 
even  as  well  as  could  the  occupants  of  the  car.  In  front  of  the 
little  row  of  women  on  the  plinth  a  gaunt  figure  in  brown  serge 
was  waving  her  arms.  What  she  was  saying  was  blurred  in  the 
general  uproar. 

'Oh,  that's  one  !'    Jean  called  out  excitedly.     'Oh,  let's  hurry.' 

But  even  after  they  left  the  car  and  reached  the  crowd,  to  hurry 
was  a  thing  no  man  could  do.  For  some  minutes  the  motor-party 
had  only  occasional  glimpses  of  the  speakers,  and  heard  little  more 
than  fragments. 

'Who  is  that,  Geoffrey?' 

'  The  tall  young  fellow  with  the  stoop  ?  That  appears  to  be  the 
chairman.'  Stonor  himself  stooped  —  to  the  eager  girl  who  had 
clutched  his  sleeve  from  behind,  and  was  following  him  closely 
through  the  press.  'The  artless  chairman,  I  take  it,  is  scolding 
the  people  for  not  giving  the  woman  a  hearing ! '  They  laughed 
together  at  the  young  man's  foolishness. 

244 


THE   CONVERT  245 

Even  had  an  open-air  meeting  been  more  of  a  commonplace  to 
Stonor,  it  would  have  had  for  him  that  effect  of  newness  that  an  old 
thing  wears  when  seen  by  an  act  of  sympathy  through  new  eyes. 

'You  must  be  sure  and  explain  everything  to  me,  Geoffrey/  said 
the  girl.  'This  is  to  be  an  important  chapter  in  my  education.' 
Merrily  and  without  a  shadow  of  misgiving  she  spoke  in  jest  a 
truer  word  than  she  dreamed.  He  fell  in  with  her  mood. 

'Well,  I  rather  gather  that  he's  been  criticizing  the  late  Govern 
ment,  and  Liberals  have  made  it  hot  for  him.' 

'I  shall  never  be  able  to  hear  unless  we  get  nearer,'  said  Jean, 
anxiously. 

'There's  a  very  rough  element  in  front  there ' 

'Oh,  don't  let  us  mind!' 

'  Most  certainly  I  mind ! ' 

'Oh,  but  I  should  be  miserable  if  I  didn't  hear.' 

She  pleaded  so  bewitchingly  for  a  front  seat  at  the  Show  that 
unwillingly  he  wormed  his  way  on.  Suddenly  he  stood  still  and 
stared  about. 

'What's  the  matter?'  said  Lady  John. 

'I  can't  have  you  ladies  pushed  about  in  this  crowd,'  he  said 
under  his  breath.  'I  must  get  hold  of  a  policeman.  You  wait 
just  here.  I'll  find  one.' 

The  adoring  eyes  of  the  girl  watched  the  tall  figure  disappear. 

'Look  at  her  face!'  Lady  John,  with  her  eyeglass  up,  was 
staring  in  the  opposite  direction.  'She's  like  an  inspired  char 
woman  ! ' 

Jean  turned,  and  in  her  eagerness  pressed  on,  Lady  John  fol 
lowing. 

The  agreeable  presence  of  the  young  chairman  was  withdrawn 
from  the  fighting-line,  and  the  figure  of  the  working  woman  stood 
alone.  With  her  lean  brown  finger  pointing  straight  at  the  more 
outrageous  of  the  young  hooligans,  and  her  voice  raised  shrill 
above  their  impertinence  — 

'I've  got  boys  of  me  own,'  she  said,  'and  we  laugh  at  all  sorts  o' 
things,  but  I  should  be  ashymed,  and  so  would  they,  if  ever  they 
wus  to  be'yve  as  you're  doin'  to-d'y.' 

When  they  had  duly  hooted  that  sentiment,  they  were  quieter 
for  a  moment. 

'People  'ave  been  sayin'  this  is  a  Middle-Class  Woman's  Move- 


246  THE   CONVERT 

ment.  It's  a  libel.  I'm  a  workin'  woman  m'self,  the  wife  of  a 
workin'  man ' 

'Pore  devil!' 

1  Don't  envy  'im,  m'self !' 

As  one  giving  her  credentials,  she  went  on,  'I'm  a  Pore  Law 
Guardian ' 

'Think  o'  that,  now!     Gracious  me!' 

A  friendly  person  in  the  crowd  turned  upon  the  scoffer. 

'Shut  up,  cawn't  yer.' 

'Not  fur  you!' 

Further  statements  on  the  part  of  the  orator  were  drowned  by  — 

'Go  'ome  and  darn  your  ol'  man's  stockin's.' 

'Just  clean  yer  own  doorstep.' 

She  glowered  her  contempt  upon  the  interrupters.  '  It's  a  pore 
sort  of  'ousekeeper  that  leaves  'er  doorstep  till  Sunday  afternoon. 
Maybe  that's  when  you  would  do  your  doorstep.  I  do  mine  in 
the  mornin',  before  you  men  are  awake ! '  They  relished  that 
and  gave  her  credit  for  a  bull's  eye. 

'You  think,'  she  went  on  quietly,  seeing  she  had  'got  them'  — 
'you  think  we  women  'ave  no  business  servin'  on  Boards  and  think 
ing  about  politics.'  In  a  tone  of  exquisite  contempt,  'But  wot's 
politics!'  she  demanded.  'It's  just 'ousekeepin' on  a  big  scyle.' 
Somebody  applauded.  '  Oo  among  you  workin'  men  'as  the  most 
comfortable  'omes  ?  Those  of  you  that  gives  yer  wives  yer  wyges.' 

'That's  it!    That's  it!'  they  roared  with  passion. 

'Wantin'  our  money.' 

'That's  all  this  agitation's  about.' 

'Listen  to  me !'  She  came  close  to  the  edge  of  the  plinth.  'If 
it  wus  only  to  use  fur  our  comfort,  d'ye  think  many  o'  you  workin' 
men  would  be  found  turnin'  over  their  wyges  to  their  wives  ?  No  ! 
Wot's  the  reason  thousands  do  —  and  the  best  and  the  soberest  ? 
Because  the  workin'  man  knows  that  wot's  a  pound  to  'im  is  twenty 
shillins  to  'is  wife,  and  she'll  myke  every  penny  in  every  one  o' 
them  shillins  tell.  She  gets  more  fur  'im  out  of  'is  wyges  than  wot 
'e  can.  Some  o'  you  know  wot  the  'omes  is  like  w'ere  the  men 
don't  let  the  women  manage.  Well,  the  Poor  Laws  and  the  'ole 
Government  is  just  in  the  syme  muddle  because  the  men  'ave  tried 
to  do  the  national  'ousekeepin'  without  the  women!' 

They  hooted,  but  they  listened,  too. 


THE   CONVERT  247 

'Like  I  said  to  you  before,  it's  a  libel  to  say  it's  only  the  well- 
off  women  wot's  wantin'  the  vote.  I  can  tell  you  wot  plenty  o'  the 
poor  women  think  about  it.  I'm  one  o'  them !  And  I  can  tell 
you  we  see  there's  reforms  needed.  We  ought  to  'ave  the  vote; 
and  we  know  'ow  to  appreciate  the  other  women  'oo  go  to  prison 
for  tryin'  to  get  it  for  us ! ' 

With  a  little  final  bob  of  emphasis,  and  a  glance  over  her  shoulder 
at  the  old  woman  and  the  young  one  behind  her,  she  was  about  to 
retire.  But  she  paused  as  the  murmur  in  the  crowd  grew  into 
distinct  phrases. 

"Inderin'  policemen!'  —  'Mykin'  rows  in  the  street;'  and  a 
voice  called  out  so  near  Jean  that  the  girl  jumped,  'It's  the  w'y 
yer  goes  on  as  mykes  'em  keep  ye  from  gettin'  votes.  They  see 
ye  ain't  fit  to  'ave ' 

And  then  all  the  varied  charges  were  swallowed  in  a  general 
uproar. 

'Where's  Geoffrey?     Oh,  isn't  she  too  funny  for  words?' 

The  agitated  chairman  had  come  forward.  'You  evidently 
don't  know,'  he  said,  'what  had  to  be  done  by  men  before  the  ex 
tension  of  suffrage  in  '67.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  demonstrations 
'  But  the  rest  was  drowned. 

The  brown-serge  woman  stood  there  waiting,  wavering  a  mo 
ment;  and  suddenly  her  shrill  note  rose  clear  over  the  indis 
tinguishable  Babel. 

'  You  s'y  woman's  plyce  is  'ome !  Don't  you  know  there's  a 
third  of  the  women  in  this  country  can't  afford  the  luxury  of  stayin' 
in  their  'omes  ?  They  got  to  go  out  and  'elp  make  money  to  p'y 
the  rent  and  keep  the  'ome  from  bein'  sold  up.  Then  there's  all 
the  women  that  'aven't  got  even  miserable  'omes.  They  'aven't 
got  any  'omes  at  all.' 

'You  said  you  got  one.     W'y  don't  you  stop  in  it?' 

'Yes,  that's  like  a  man.  If  one  o'  you  is  all  right  he  thinks  the 
rest  don't  matter.  We  women  — 

But  they  overwhelmed  her.  She  stood  there  with  her  gaunt 
arms  folded  —  waiting.  You  felt  that  she  had  met  other  crises 
of  her  life  with  just  that  same  smouldering  patience.  When  the 
wave  of  noise  subsided  again,  she  was  discovered  to  be  speak 
ing. 

*  P'raps  your  'omes  are  all  right !     P'raps  your  children  never 


248  THE   CONVERT 

goes  'ungry.  P'raps  you  aren't  livin',  old  and  young,  married  and 
single,  in  one  room.' 

'I  suppose  life  is  like  that  for  a  good  many  people,'  Jean  Dun- 
barton  turned  round  to  say. 

'Oh,  yes,'  said  her  aunt. 

'I  come  from  a  plyce  where  many  fam'lies,  if  they're  to  go  on 
livin'  at  all,  'ave  to  live  like  that.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  come 
and  let  me  show  you  ! '  She  spread  out  her  lean  arms.  '  Come 
with  me  to  Canning  Town  —  come  with  me  to  Bromley  —  come 
to  Poplar  and  to  Bow.  No,  you  won't  even  think  about  the  over 
worked  women  and  the  underfed  children,  and  the  'ovels  they  live 
in.  And  you  want  that  we  shouldn't  think  neither ' 

'  We'll  do  the  thinkin'.     You  go  'ome  and  nuss  the  byby.' 

'  I  do  nurse  my  byby ;  I've  nursed  seven.  What  have  you  done 
for  yours?'  She  waited  in  vain  for  the  answer.  ' P'raps,'  her 
voice  quivered,  'p'raps  your  children  never  goes  'ungry,  and  maybe 
you're  satisfied  —  though  I  must  say  I  wouldn't  a  thought  it  from 
the  look  o'  yer.' 

'Oh,  I  s'y!' 

'But  we  women  are  not  satisfied.  We  don't  only  want  better 
things  for  our  own  children ;  we  want  better  things  for  all.  Every 
child  is  our  child.  We  know  in  our  'earts  we  oughtn't  to  rest  till 
we've  mothered  'em  every  one.' 

'Wot  about  the  men?    Are  they  all  'appy?' 

There  was  derisive  laughter  at  that,  and  'No!  No!'  'Not 
precisely ! '  "A  ppy  ?  Lord ! ' 

'No,  there's  lots  o'  you  men  I'm  sorry  for,'  she  said. 

'Thanks,  awfully!' 

'And  we'll  'elp  you  if  you  let  us,'  she  said. 

"Elp  us?     You  tyke  the  bread  out  of  our  mouths.' 

'Now  you're  goin'  to  begin  about  us  blackleggin'  the  men! 
Wy  does  any  woman  tyke  less  wyges  than  a  man  for  the  same 
work  ?  Only  because  we  can't  get  anything  better.  That's  part 
the  reason  w'y  we're  yere  to-d'y.  Do  you  reely  think,'  she  rea 
soned  with  them  as  man  to  man;  'do  you  think,  now,  we  tyke 
those  low  wyges  because  we  got  a  likin'  fur  low  wyges?  No. 
We're  just  like  you.  We  want  as  much  as  ever  we  can  get.' 

"Ear!  'ear!' 

'  We  got  a  gryte  deal  to  do  with  our  wgyes,  we  women  has.     We 


THE   CONVERT  249 

got  the  children  to  think  about.  And  w'en  we  get  our  rights,  a 
woman's  flesh  and  blood  won't  be  so  much  cheaper  than  a  man's 
that  employers  can  get  rich  on  keepin'  you  out  o'  work  andsweatin' 
us.  If  you  men  only  could  see  it,  we  got  the  syme  cause,  and  if  you 
'elped  us  you'd  be  'elpin'  yerselves.' 

'Rot!' 

'True  as  gospel!'  some  one  said. 

'Drivel!' 

As  she  retired  against  the  banner  with  the  others,  there  was 
some  applause. 

'Well,  now,'  said  a  man  patronizingly,  'that  wusn't  so  bad  — 
fur  a  woman.' 

'N  —  naw.     Not  fur  a  woman.' 

Jean  had  been  standing  on  tip-toe  making  signals.  Ah,  at  last 
Geoffrey  saw  her !  But  why  was  he  looking  so  grave  ? 

'No  policeman?'  Lady  John  asked. 

'Not  on  that  side.  They  seem  to  have  surrounded  the  storm 
centre,  which  is  just  in  front  of  the  place  you've  rather  unwisely 
chosen.'  Indeed  it  was  possible  to  see,  further  on,  half  a  dozen 
helmets  among  the  hats. 

What  was  happening  on  the  plinth  seemed  to  have  a  lessened 
interest  for  Jean  Dunbarton.  She  kept  glancing  sideways  up 
under  the  cap  brim  at  the  eyes  of  the  man  at  her  side. 

Lady  John  on  the  other  hand  was  losing  nothing.  '  Is  she  one 
of  them?  That  little  thing?' 

'I  —  I  suppose  so,'  answered  Stonor,  doubtfully,  though  the 
chairman,  with  a  cheerful  air  of  relief,  had  introduced  Miss 
Ernestine  Blunt  to  the  accompaniment  of  cheers  and  a  general 
moving  closer  to  the  monument. 

Lady  John,  after  studying  Ernestine  an  instant  through  her 
glass,  turned  to  a  dingy  person  next  her,  who  was  smoking  a  short 
pipe. 

'Among  those  women  up  there,'  said  Lady  John,  'can  you  tell 
me,  my  man,  which  are  the  ones  that  a  —  that  make  the  dis 
turbances  ? ' 

The  man  removed  his  pipe  and  spat  carefully  between  his  feet. 
Then  with  deliberation  he  said  — 

'  The  one  that's  doing  the  talking  now  —  she's  the  disturb- 
ingest  o'  the  lot.' 


250  THE   CONVERT 

'Not  that  nice  little ' 

'Don't  you  be  took  in,  mum;'  and  he  resumed  the  consolatory 
pipe. 

'What  is  it,  Geoffrey?  Have  I  done  anything?'  Jean  said 
very  low. 

'Why  didn't  you  stay  where  I  left  you?  "  he  answered,  without 
looking  at  her. 

'I  couldn't  hear.  I  couldn't  even  see.  Please  don't  look  like 
that.  Forgive  me,'  she  pleaded,  covertly  seeking  his  hand. 

His  set  face  softened.  'It  frightened  me  when  I  didn't  see 
you  where  I  left  you.' 

She  smiled,  with  recovered  spirits.  She  could  attend  now  to 
the  thing  she  had  come  to  see. 

'I'm  sorry  you  missed  the  inspired  charwoman.  It's  rather 
upsetting  to  think  —  do  you  suppose  any  of^  our  servants  have 
—  views?' 

Stonor  laughed.  'Oh,  no  1  Our  servants  are  all  too  superior.' 
He  moved  forward  and  touched  a  policeman  on  the  shoulder. 
What  was  said  was  not  audible  —  the  policeman  at  first  shook 
his  head,  then  suddenly  he  turned  round,  looked  sharply  into 
the  gentleman's  face,  and  his  whole  manner  changed.  Oblig 
ing,  genial,  almost  obsequious.  '  Oh,  he's  recognized  Geoffrey ! ' 
Jean  said  to  her  aunt.  'They  have  to  do  what  a  member  tells 
them !  They'll  stop  the  traffic  any  time  to  let  Geoffrey  go  by ! ' 
she  exulted. 

Stonor  beckoned  to  his  ladies.  The  policeman  was  forging 
a  way  in  which  they  followed. 

'This  will  do,'  Stonor  said  at  last,  and  he  whispered  again  to 
the  policeman.  The  man  replied,  grinning.  '  Oh,  really,'  Stonor 
smiled,  too.  'This  is  the  redoubtable  Miss  Ernestine  Blunt,' 
he  explained  over  his  shoulder,  and  he  drew  back  so  that  Jean 
could  pass,  and  standing  so,  directly  in  front  of  him,  she  could  be 
protected  right  and  left,  if  need  were,  by  a  barrier  made  of  his  arms. 

'Now  can  you  see?'  he  asked. 

She  looked  round  and  nodded.  Her  face  was  without  cloud 
again.  She  leaned  lightly  against  his  arm. 

Miss  Ernestine  had  meanwhile  been  catapulting  into  election 
issues  with  all  the  fervour  of  a  hot-gospeller. 

'  What  outrageous  things  she  says  about  important  people  — 


THE   CONVERT  251 

people  she  ought  to  respect  and  be  rather  afraid  of,'  objected 
Jean,  rather  scandalized. 

'  Impudent  little  baggage  ! '  said  Stonor. 

Reasons,  a  plenty,  the  baggage  had  why  the  Party  which  had 
so  recently  refused  to  enfranchise  women  should  not  be  returned 
to  power. 

'You're  in  too  big  a  hurry,'  some  one  shouted.  'All  the 
Liberals  want  is  a  little  time.' 

'  Time !  You  seem  not  to  know  that  the  first  petition  in  favour 
of  giving  us  the  Franchise  was  signed  in  1866.' 

'How  do  you  know?' 

She  paused  a  moment,  taken  off  her  guard  by  the  suddenness 
of  the  attack. 

'  You  wasn't  there ! ' 

'That  was  the  trouble.     Haw!     Haw!' 

'That  petition,'  she  said,  'was  presented  forty  years  ago.' 

'Give  'er  a  'reain'  now  she  'as  got  out  of  'er  crydle.' 

'It  was  presented  to  the  House  of  Commons  by  John  Stu 
art  Mill.  Give  the  Liberals  time ! '  she  echoed.  '  Thirty-three 
years  ago  memorials  in  favour  of  the  suffrage  were  presented  to 
Mr.  Gladstone  and  Mr.  Disraeli.  In  1896,  257,000  women  of 
these  British  Isles  signed  an  appeal  to  the  members  of  Parlia 
ment.  Bills  or  Resolutions  have  been  before  the  House,  on  and 
off,  for  the  last  thirty-six  years.  All  that  "time"  thrown  away! 
At  the  opening  of  this  year  we  found  ourselves  with  no  assurance 
that  if  we  went  on  in  the  same  way,  any  girl  born  into  the  world 
in  our  time  would  ever  be  able  to  exercise  the  rights  of  citizen 
ship  though  she  lived  to  be  a  hundred.  That  was  why  we  said 
all  this  has  been  in  vain.  We  must  try  some  other  way.  How 
did  you  working  men  get  the  suffrage,  we  asked  ourselves.  Well, 
we  turned  up  the  records  —  and  we  saw.  We  don't  want  to  follow 
such  a  violent  example.  We  would  much  rather  not  —  but  if 
that's  the  only  way  we  can  make  the  country  see  we're  in  earnest 
—  we  are  prepared  to  show  them ! ' 

'An'  they'll  show  you/1 

'  Give  ye  another  month  'ard ! ' 

In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  and  interruptions,  a  dirty,  beery 
fellow  of  fifty  or  so,  from  whom  Stonor's  arm  was  shielding  Jean, 
turned  to  the  pal  behind  him  with  — 


252  THE  CONVERT 

'Ow'd  yer  like  to  be  that  one's  'usband? 
'ome  to  that!1 

'I'd  soon  learn  'er!'  answered  the  other,  with  a  meaning  look. 

'Don't  think  that  going  to  prison  again  has  any  fears  for  us. 
We'd  go  for  life  if  by  doing  that  we  got  freedom  for  the  rest  of  the 
women.' 

'Hear!     Hear!' 

'Rot!' 

'W'y  don't  the  men  'elp  ye  to  get  yer  rights?' 

'Here's  some  one  asking  why  the  men  don't  help.  It's  partly 
they  don't  understand  yet  —  they  will  before  we've  done  ! '  She 
wagged  her  head  in  a  sort  of  comical  menace,  and  the  crowd 
screamed  with  laughter — 'partly,  they  don't  understand  yet 
what's  at  stake  - 

'  Lord ! '  said  an  old  fellow,  with  a  rich  chuckle.  '  She's  a  edu- 
catin'  of  us ! 

' — and  partly  that  the  bravest  man  is  afraid  of  ridicule.  Oh, 
yes,  we've  heard  a  great  deal  all  our  lives  about  the  timidity  and 
the  sensitiveness  of  women.  And  it's  true  —  we  are  sensitive. 
But  I  tell  you,  ridicule  crumples  a  man  up.  It  steels  a  woman. 
We've  come  to  know  the  value  of  ridicule.  We've  educated 
ourselves  so  that  we  welcome  ridicule.  We  owe  our  sincerest 
thanks  to  the  comic  writers.  The  cartoonist  is  our  unconscious 
friend.  Who  cartoons  people  who  are  of  no  importance  ?  What 
advertisement  is  so  sure  of  being  remembered?  If  we  didn't 
know  it  by  any  other  sign,  the  comic  papers  would  tell  us — 
we've  arrived!1 

She  stood  there  for  one  triumphant  moment  in  an  attitude  of 
such  audacious  self-confidence,  that  Jean  turned  excitedly  to  her 
lover  with  — 

'I  know  what  she's  like!  The  girl  in  Ibsen's  "Master 
Builder"!' 

'I  don't  think  I  know  the  young  lady.' 

'  Oh,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  that  set  the  Master  Builder's 
nerves  quivering.  He  felt  in  his  bones  it  was  the  Younger  Genera 
tion  coming  to  upset  things.  He  thought  it  was  a  young  man  — 

'And  it  was  really  Miss  Ernestine  Blunt?  He  has  my  sym 
pathies.' 

The  Younger  Generation  was  declaring  from  the  monument  — 


THE   CONVERT  253 

'Our  greatest  debt  of  gratitude  we  owe  to  the  man  who  called 
us  female  hooligans  ! ' 

That  tickled  the  crowd,  too;  she  was  such  a  charming  little 
pink-cheeked  specimen  of  a  hooligan. 

'I'm  being  frightfully  amused,  Geoffrey/  said  Jean. 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  large  indulgence.  'That's 
right,'  he  said. 

'We  aren't  hooligans,  but  we  hope  the  fact  will  be  overlooked. 
If  everybody  said  we  were  nice,  well-behaved  women,  who'd 
come  to  hear  us?  Not  the  men.' 

The  people  dissolved  in  laughter,  but  she  was  grave  enough. 

'Men  tell  us  it  isn't  womanly  for  us  to  care  about  poli 
tics.  How  do  they  know  what's  womanly?  It's  for  women  to 
decide  that.  Let  them  attend  to  being  manly.  It  will  take 
them  all  their  time.' 

'Pore  benighted  man!' 

'Some  of  you  have  heard  it  would  be  dreadful  if  we  got  the 
vote,  because  then  we'd  be  pitted  against  men  in  the  economic 
struggle.  But  it's  too  late  to  guard  against  that.  It's  fact. 
But  facts,  we've  discovered,  are  just  what  men  find  it  so  hard  to 
recognize.  Men  are  so  dreadfully  sentimental.'  She  smiled 
with  the  crowd  at  that,  but  she  proceeded  to  hammer  in  her  pet 
nail.  'They  won't  recognize  those  eighty-two  women  out  of 
every  hundred  who  are  wage-earners.  We  used  to  believe 
men  when  they  told  us  that  it  was  unfeminine  —  hardly 
respectable  —  for  women  to  be  students  and  to  aspire  to  the 
arts  that  bring  fame  and  fortune.  But  men  have  never  told  us  it 
was  unfeminine  for  women  to  do  the  heavy  drudgery  that's  badly 
paid.  That  kind  of  work  had  to  be  done  by  somebody,  and 
men  didn't  hanker  after  it.  Oh,  no !  Let  the  women  scrub 
and  cook  and  wash,  or  teach  without  diplomas  on  half  pay. 
That's  all  right.  But  if  they  want  to  try  their  hand  at  the  better- 
rewarded  work  of  the  liberal  professions  —  oh,  very  unfeminine 
indeed.' 

As  Ernestine  proceeded  to  show  how  all  this  obsolete  unfairness 
had  its  roots  in  political  inequality,  Lady  John  dropped  her  glass 
with  a  sigh. 

'You  are  right,'  she  said  to  Jean.  'This  is  Hilda,  harnessed 
to  a  purpose.  A  portent  to  shake  middle-aged  nerves.' 


254  THE   CONVERT 

With  Jean  blooming  there  before  him,  Stonor  had  no  wish  to 
prove  his  own  nerves  middle-aged. 

'I  think  she's  rather  fun,  myself.  Though  she  ought  to  be 
taken  home  and  well  smacked.' 

Somebody  had  interrupted  to  ask,  'If  the  House  of  Commons 
won't  give  you  justice,  why  don't  you  go  to  the  House  of  Lords?' 

'What?'  She  hadn't  heard,  but  the  question  was  answered 
by  some  one  who  had. 

'  She'd  'ave  to  'urry  up.     Case  of  early  closin' ! ' 

'You'll  be  allowed  to  ask  any  question  you  like,'  she  said,  'at 
the  end  of  the  meeting.' 

'Wot's  that?  Oh,  is  it  question  time?  I  s'y,  miss,  'oo  killed 
Cock  Robin?' 

'I've  got  a  question,  too,'  a  boy  called  through  his  hollowed 
hands.  '  Are  —  you  —  married  ? ' 

"Ere's  your  chance.     'E's  a  bachelor.' 

'Here's  a  man,'  says  Ernestine,  'asking,  "If  the  women  get 
full  citizenship,  and  a  war  is  declared,  will  the  women  fight?'" 

'Haw!  haw!' 

'Yes.' 

'Yes.     Just  tell  us  that!' 

'Well'  —  she  smiled  —  'you  know  some  say  the  whole  trouble 
about  us  is  that  we  do  fight.  But  it's  only  hard  necessity  makes 
us  do  that.  We  don't  want  to  fight  —  as  men  seem  to  —  just 
for  fighting's  sake.  Women  are  for  peace.' 

'Hear!  hear!' 

'And  when  we  have  a  share  in  public  affairs  there'll  be  less 
likelihood  of  war.  Wasn't  it  a  woman,  the  Baroness  von  Suttner, 
whose  book  about  peace  was  the  corner-stone  of  the  Peace  Con 
gress  ?  Wasn't  it  that  book  that  converted  the  millionaire  maker 
of  armaments  of  war?  Wasn't  it  the  Baroness  von  Suttner's 
book  that  made  Nobel  offer  those  great  international  prizes  for 
the  Arts  of  Peace?  I'm  not  saying  women  can't  fight.  But  we 
women  know  all  war  is  evil,  and  we're  for  peace.  Our  part  — 
we're  proud  to  remember  it  —  our  part  has  been  to  go  about  after 
you  men  in  war  time  and  pick  up  the  pieces!' 

A  great  shout  went  up  as  the  truth  of  that  rolled  in  upon  the 
people. 

'Yes;    seems  funny,  doesn't   it?    You  men  blow  people  to 


THE   CONVERT  255 

bits,  and  then  we  come  along  and  put  them  together  again.  If 
you  know  anything  about  military  nursing,  you  know  a  good  deal 
of  our  work  has  been  done  in  the  face  of  danger;  but  it's  always 
been  done.' 

'That's  so.     That's  so.' 

'Well,  what  of  it?'  said  a  voice.  'Women  must  do  something 
for  their  keep.' 

'You  complain  that  more  and  more  we're  taking  away  from 
you  men  the  work  that's  always  been  yours.  You  can't  any 
longer  keep  woman  out  of  the  industries.  The  only  question  is, 
on  what  terms  shall  she  continue  to  be  in?  As  long  as  she's 
in  on  bad  terms,  she's  not  only  hurting  herself,  she's  hurting  you. 
But  if  you're  feeling  discouraged  about  our  competing  with  you, 
we're  willing  to  leave  you  your  trade  in  war.  Let  the  men  take 
life  !  We  give  life ! '  Her  voice  was  once  more  moved  and  proud. 
'No  one  will  pretend  ours  isn't  one  of  the  dangerous  trades  either. 
I  won't  say  any  more  to  you  now,  because  we've  got  others  to 
speak  to  you,  and  a  new  woman  helper  that  I  want  you  to  hear.' 

With  an  accompaniment  of  clapping  she  retired  to  hold  a  hurried 
consultation  with  the  chairman. 

Jean  turned  to  see  how  Geoffrey  had  taken  it.     'Well?' 

He  smiled  down  at  her,  echoing,  'Well?' 

'Nothing  so  very  reprehensible  in  what  she  said,  was  there?' 

'Oh,  "reprehensible"!' 

'It  makes  one  rather  miserable  all  the  same.' 

He  pressed  his  guardian  arm  the  closer.  'You  mustn't  take 
it  as  much  to  heart  as  all  that.' 

'I  can't  help  it.  I  can't  indeed,  Geoffrey.  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  make  a  speech  like  that.' 

He  stared,  considerably  taken  aback.     'I  hope  not  indeed.' 

'  Why  ?    I  thought  you  said  you  wanted  me  to  — 

'To  make  nice  little  speeches  with  composure?  So  I  did.  So 

I  do '  as  he  looked  down  upon  the  upturned  face  he  seemed 

to  lose  his  thread. 

She  was  for  helping  him  to  recover  it.  'Don't  you  remember 
how  you  said ' 

'That  you  have  very  pink  cheeks?     Well,  I  stick  to  it.' 

She  smiled.     'Sh!     Don't  tell  everybody.' 

'And  you're  the  only  female  creature 


256  THE   CONVERT 

1  That's  a  most  proper  sentiment.' 

'The  only  one  I  ever  saw  who  didn't  look  a  fright  in  motor 
things.' 

'I'm  glad  you  don't  think  me  a  fright.  Oh!'  —  she  turned 
at  the  sound  of  applause  —  'we're  forgetting  all  about ' 

A  big  sandy  man,  not  hitherto  seen,  was  rolling  his  loose-knit 
body  up  and  down  the  platform,  smiling  at  the  people  and  mop 
ping  a  great  bony  skull,  on  which,  low  down,  a  few  scanty  wisps 
of  colourless  hair  were  growing. 

'If  you  can't  afford  a  bottle  of  Tatcho,'  a  boy  called  out,  'w'y 
don't  you  get  yer  'air  cut?' 

He  just  shot  out  one  hand  and  wagged  it  in  grotesque  greeting, 
not  in  the  least  discomposed. 

'  I've  been  addressin'  a  big  meetin'  at  'Ammersmith  this  morn 
ing,  and  w'en  I  told  'em  I  wus  comin'  'ere  this  awfternoon  to 
speak  fur  the  women  —  well  —  then  the  usual  thing  began.' 

An  appreciative  roar  rose  from  the  crowd. 

'Yes,'  he  grinned,  'if  you  want  peace  and  quiet  at  a  public 
meetin',  better  not  go  mentionin'  the  lydies  these  times!' 

He  stopped,  and  the  crowd  filled  in  the  hiatus  with  laughter. 

'There  wus  a  man  at  'Ammersmith,  too,  talkin'  about  Woman's 
sphere  bein'  'Ome.  'Ome  do  you  call  it?  'Owe/'  and  at  the 
word  his  bonhomie  suffered  a  singular  eclipse.  "Ome!'  he  bel 
lowed,  as  if  some  one  had  struck  him  in  a  vital  spot,  and  the  word 
was  merely  a  roar  of  pain.  "Omef  You've  got  a  kennel  w'ere 
you  can  munch  your  tommy.  You  got  a  corner  w'ere  you  can 
curl  up  fur  a  few  hours  till  you  go  out  to  work  again.  But  'omes  ! 
No,  my  men,  there's  too  many  of  you  ain't  able  to  give  the  women 
'omes  fit  to  live  in;  too  many  of  you  in  that  fix  fur  you  to  go  on 
jawin'  at  those  o'  the  women  'oo  want  to  myke  the  'omes  a  little 
more  deservin'  o'  the  name.' 

'If  the  vote  ain't  done  us  any  good,'  a  man  bawled  up  at  him, 
"ow'll  it  do  the  women  any  good?' 

'  Look  'ere !  See  'ere ! '  he  rolled  his  shapeless  body  up  and 
down  the  stone  platform,  taking  in  great  draughts  of  cheer  from 
some  invisible  fountain.  'Any  men  here  belongin'  to  the  Labour 
Party?'  he  inquired. 

To  an  accompaniment  of  shouts  and  applause  he  went  on, 
smiling  and  rubbing  his  hands  in  a  state  of  bubbling  Brotherliness. 


THE   CONVERT  257 

'Well,  I  don't  need  tell  those  men  the  vote  'as  done  us  some 
good.  They  know  it.  And  it'll  do  us  a  lot  more  good  w'en  you 
know  'ow  to  use  the  power  you  got  in  your  'and.' 

'Power!'  grumbled  an  old  fellow.  'It's  those  fellows  at  the 
bottom  of  the  street '  —  he  hitched  his  head  toward  St.  Stephen's 
—  'it's  them  that's  got  the  power.' 

The  speaker  pounced  on  him.  'It's  you  and  men  like  you 
that  give  it  to  them.  Wot  did  you  do  last  election  ?  You  carried 
the  Liberals  into  Parliament  Street  on  your  own  shoulders.  You 
believed  all  their  fine  words.  You  never  asked  yerselves,  "Wot's 
a  Liberal,  anyway?"' 

In  the  chorus  of  cheers  and  booing  some  one  sang  out,  'He's 
a  jolly  good  fellow ! ' 

'No  'e  ain't,'  said  the  Labour  man,  with  another  wheel  about 
and  a  pounce.  'No  'e  ain't,  or,  if  'e's  jolly,  it's  only  because  'e 
thinks  you're  such  a  cod-fish  you'll  go  swellin'  'is  majority  again.' 

Stonor  joined  in  that  laugh.     He  rather  liked  the  man. 

'Yes,  it's  enough  to  make  any  Liberal  "jolly"  to  see  a  sheep 
like  you  lookin'  on,  proud  and  'appy,  while  you  see  Liberal  leaders 
desertin'  Liberal  principles.' 

Through  the  roar  of  protest  and  argument,  he  held  out  those 
grotesque  great  hands  of  his  with  the  suggestion  — 

'You  show  me  a  Liberal,  and  I'll  show  you  a  Mr.  Facing- 
both-ways.  Yuss.  The  Liberal,  'e  sheds  the  light  of  his  warm 
and  'andsome  smile  on  the  workin'  man,  and  round  on  the  other 
side  'e's  tippin'  the  wink  to  the  great  landowners.  Yuss.  That's 
to  let  'em  know  'e's  standin'  between  them  and  Socialists.  Ha ! 
the  Socialists ! '  Puffing  and  flushed  and  perspiring  he  hurled  it 
out  again  and  again  over  the  heads  of  the  people.  'The  Socialists ! 
Yuss.  Socialists!  Ha!  ha!'  When  he  and  the  audience  had 
a  little  calmed  down,  'The  Liberal,'  he  said,  with  that  look  of 
sly  humour,  "e's  the  judicial  sort  o'  chap  that  sits  in  the  middle.' 

'On  the  fence.' 

He  nodded.  'Tories  one  side,  Socialists  the  other.  Well, 
it  ain't  always  so  comfortable  in  the  middle.  No.  Yer  like  to 
get  squeezed.  Now,  I  says  to  the  women,  wot  I  says  is,  the  Con 
servatives  don't  promise  you  much,  but  wot  they  promise  they 
do.'  He  whacked  one  fist  into  the  other  with  tremendous  effect 

'This  fellow  isn't  half  bad,'  Stonor  said  to  Lady  John, 
s 


258  THE   CONVERT 

'But  the  Liberals,  they'll  promise  you  the  earth  and  give  you 
the  whole  o'  nothinV 

There  were  roars  of  approval.  Liberal  stock  had  sunk  rather 
low  in  Trafalgar  Square. 

'Isn't  it  fun?'  said  Jean.  'Now  aren't  you  glad  I  brought 
you?' 

'Oh,  this  chap's  all  right!' 

'We  men  'ave  seen  it  'appen  over  and  over.  But  the  women 
can  tyke  an  'int  quicker  'n  what  we  can.  They  won't  stand  the 
nonsense  men  do.  Only  they  'aven't  got  a  fair  chawnce  even 
to  agitate  fur  their  rights.  As  I  wus  comin'  up  ere,  I  'card  a  man 
sayin',  "Look  at  this  big  crowd.  W'y,  we're  all  men!  If  the 
women  want  the  vote,  w'y  ain't  they  here  to  s'y  so?  Well,  I'll 
tell  you  w'y.  It's  because  they've  'ad  to  get  the  dinner  fur  you 
and  me,  and  now  they're  washin'  up  dishes.' 

'D'you  think  we  ought  to  st'y  at  'ome  and  wash  the  dishes?' 

He  laughed  with  good-natured  shrewdness.  'Well,  if  they'd 
leave  it  to  us  once  or  twice  per'aps  we'd  understand  a  little  more 
about  the  Woman  Question.  I  know  w'y  my  wife  isn't  here. 
It's  because  she  knows  I  can't  cook,  and  she's  'opin'  I  can  talk 
to  some  purpose.  Yuss,'  —  he  acknowledged  another  possible 
view,  —  'yuss,  maybe  she's  mistaken.  Any'ow,  here  I  am  to 
vote  for  her  and  all  the  other  women,  and  to ' 

They  nearly  drowned  him  with  'Oh-h!'  and  'Hear!  hear!' 

'And  to  tell  you  men  what  improvements  you  can  expect  to 
see  w'en  women  'as  the  share  in  public  affairs  they  ought  to  'ave ! ' 

Out  of  the  babel  came  the  question,  '  What  do  you  know  about 
it?  You  can't  even  talk  grammar.' 

His  broad  smile  faltered  a  little. 

'Oh,  what  shame!'  said  Jean,  full  of  sympathy.  'He's  a  dear 
—  that  funny  cockney.' 

But  he  had  been  dashed  for  the  merest  moment. 

'I'm  not  'ere  to  talk  grammar,  but  to  talk  Reform.  I  ain't 
defendin'  my  grammar,'  he  said,  on  second  thoughts,  'but  I'll 
say  in  pawssing  that  if  my  mother  'ad  'ad  'er  rights,  maybe  my 
grammar  would  'ave  been  better.' 

It  was  a  thrust  that  seemed  to  go  home.  But,  all  the  same, 
it  was  clear  that  many  of  his  friends  couldn't  stomach  the  sight 
of  him  up  there  demeaning  himself  by  espousing  the  cause  of  the 


THE   CONVERT  259 

Suffragettes.  He  kept  on  about  woman  and  justice,  but  his 
performance  was  little  more  than  vigorous  pantomime.  The 
boyish  chairman  looked  harassed  and  anxious,  Miss  Ernestine 
Blunt  alert,  watchful. 

Stonor  bent  his  head  to  whisper  something  in  Jean  Dunbarton's 
ear.  She  listened  with  lowered  eyes  and  happy  face.  The  dis 
creet  little  interchange  went  on  for  several  minutes,  while  the 
crowd  booed  at  the  bald-headed  Labourite  for  his  mistaken 
enthusiasm.  Geoffrey  Stonor  and  his  bride-to-be  were  more 
alone  now  in  the  midst  of  this  shouting  mob  than  they  had  been 
since  the  Ulland  House  luncheon-gong  had  broken  in  upon  and 
banished  momentary  wonderment  about  the  name  —  that  name 
beginning  with  V.  Plain  to  see  in  the  flushed  and  happy  face 
that  Jean  Dunbarton  was  not  'asking  questions.'  She  was 
listening  absorbed  to  the  oldest  of  all  the  stories. 

And  now  the  champion  of  the  Suffragettes  had  come  to  the 
surface  again  with  his  — 

'Wait  a  bit  —  'arf  a  minute,  my  man.' 

'Oo  you  talkin'  to?     I  ain't  your  man!' 

'Oh,  that's  lucky  for  me.  There  seems  to  be  an  individual 
here  who  doesn't  think  women  ought  to  'ave  the  vote.' 

'One?    Oh-h!' 

They  all  but  wiped  him  out  again  in  laughter;  but  he  climbed 
on  the  top  of  the  great  wave  of  sound  with  — 

'P'raps  the  gentleman  who  thinks  they  oughtn't  to  'ave  a 
vote,  p'raps  'e  don't  know  much  about  women.  Wot  ?  Oh,  the 
gentleman  says  'e's  married.  Well,  then,  fur  the  syke  of  'is  wife 
we  mustn't  be  too  sorry  'e's  'ere.  No  doubt  she's  s'ying,  "  'Eaven 
be  prysed  those  women  are  mykin'  a  demonstrytion  in  Trafalgar 
Square,  and  I'll  'ave  a  little  peace  and  quiet  at  'ome  for  one  Sunday 
in  me  life."' 

The  crowd  liked  that,  and  found  themselves  jeering  at  the 
interrupter  as  well  as  at  the  speaker. 

'Why,  you'  —  he  pointed  at  some  one  in  the  crowd —  'you're 
like  the  man  at  'Ammersmith  this  morning.  'E  wus  awskin'  me, 
'"Ow  would  you  like  men  to  st'y  at  'ome  and  do  the  fam'ly 
washin'  ? "  I  told  'im  I  wouldn't  advise  it.  I  'ave  too  much 
respect  fur'  —  they  waited  while  slyly  he  brought  out  —  'me 
clo'es.' 


260  THE  CONVERT 

'It's  their  place,'  said  some  one  in  a  rage;  'the  women  ought 
to  do  the  washinV 

*  I'm  not  sure  you  aren't  right.  For  a  good  many  o'  you  fellas 
from  the  look  o'  you,  you  cawn't  even  wash  yourselves.' 

This  was  outrageous.  It  was  resented  in  an  incipient  riot. 
The  helmets  of  the  police  bobbed  about.  An  angry  voice  had 
called  out  — 

'Oo  are  you  talkin'  to?' 

The  anxiety  of  the  inexperienced  chairman  was  almost  touching. 

The  Socialist  revelled  in  the  disturbance  he'd  created.  He 
walked  up  and  down  with  that  funny  rolling  gait,  poking  out 
his  head  at  intervals  in  a  turtle-esque  fashion  highty  provoca 
tive,  holding  his  huge  paws  kangaroo  fashion,  only  with  fingers 
stiffly  pointed,  and  shooting  them  out  at  intervals  towards  the 
crowd  in  a  very  ecstasy  of  good-natured  contempt. 

'Better  go  'ome  and  awsk  yer  wife  to  wash  yer  fice,'  he  advised. 
'  You  cawn't  even  do  that  bit  o'  fam'ly  washin'.  Go  and  awsk 
some  woman.' 

There  was  a  scuffle  in  the  crowd.  A  section  of  it  surged  up 
towards  the  monument. 

'Which  of  us  d'you  mean?'  demanded  a  threatening  voice. 

'Well,'  said  the  Socialist,  coolly  looking  down,  'it  takes  about 
ten  of  your  sort  to  make  a  man,  so  you  may  take  it  I  mean  the 
lot  of  you.'  Again  the  hands  shot  out  and  scattered  scorn  amongst 
his  critics. 

There  were  angry,  indistinguishable  retorts,  and  the  crowd 
swayed.  Miss  Ernestine  Blunt,  who  had  been  watching  the 
fray  with  serious  face,  turned  suddenly,  catching  sight  of  some  one 
just  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  platform.  She  jumped  up,  saying 
audibly  to  the  speaker  as  she  passed  him,  'Here  she  is,'  and 
proceeded  to  offer  her  hand  to  help  some  one  to  get  up  the  im 
provised  steps  behind  the  lion. 

The  Socialist  had  seized  with  fervour  upon  his  last  chance, 
and  was  flinging  out  showers  of  caustic  advice  among  his  foes, 
stirring  them  up  to  frenzy. 

Stonor,  with  contracted  brows,  had  stared  one  dazed  instant 
as  the  head  of  the  new-comer  came  up  behind  the  lion  on  the 
left. 

Jean,  her  eyes  wide,  incredulous,  as  though  unable  to  accept 


THE   CONVERT  261 

their  testimony,  pressed  a  shade  nearer  the  monument.     Stonor 
made  a  sharp  move  forward,  and  took  her  by  the  arm. 

'We're  going  now,'  he  said. 

'Not  yet  —  oh,  please  not  just  yet,'  she  pleaded  as  he  drew 
her  round.  '  Geoffrey,  I  do  believe  — 

She  looked  back,  with  an  air  almost  bewildered,  over  her 
shoulder,  like  one  struggling  to  wake  from  a  dream. 

Stonor  was  saying  with  decision  to  Lady  John,  'I'm  going  to 
take  Jean  out  of  this  mob.  Will  you  come?' 

'What?  Oh,  yes,  if  you  think'  —  she  had  disengaged  the  chain 
of  her  eyeglass  at  last.  'But  isn't  that,  surely  it's '. 

'  Geoffrey ! '  Jean  began. 

'Lady  John's  tired,'  he  interrupted.  'We've  had  enough  of 
this  idiotic ' 

'But  you  don't  see  who  it  is,  Geoffrey.     That  last  one  is  — 
Suddenly  Jean  bent  forward  as  he  was  trying  to  extricate  her  from 
the  crowd,  and  she  looked  in  his  face.     Something  that  she  found 
there  made  her  tighten  her  hold  on  his  arm. 

'We  can't  run  away  and  leave  Aunt  Ellen,'  was  all  she  said; 
but  her  voice  sounded  scared.  Stonor  repressed  a  gesture  of 
anger,  and  came  to  a  standstill  just  behind  two  big  policemen. 

The  last-comer  to  that  strange  platform,  after  standing  for 
some  seconds  with  her  back  to  the  people  and  talking  to  Ernestine 
Blunt,  the  tall  figure  in  a  long  sage-green  dust  coat  and  familial 
hat,  had  turned  and  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  crowd. 

It  was  Vida  Levering. 

The  girl  down  in  the  crowd  locked  her  hands  together  and 
stood  motionless. 

The  Socialist  had  left  the  platform  with  the  threat  that  he 
was  'coming  down  now  to  attend  to  that  microbe  that's  vitiating 
the  air  on  my  right,  while  a  lady  will  say  a  few  words  to  you  — 
if  she  can  myke  'erself  'card.' 

He  retired  to  a  chorus  of  cheers  and  booing,  while  the  chair 
man,  more  harassed  than  ever,  it  would  seem,  but  determined 
to  create  a  diversion,  was  saying  that  some  one  had  suggested  — 
'and  it's  such  a  good  idea  I'd  like  you  to  listen  to  it  —  that  a 
clause  shall  be  inserted  in  the  next  Suffrage  Bill  that  shall  expressly 
give  to  each  Cabinet  Minister,  and  to  any  respectable  man,  the 
power  to  prevent  a  vote  being  given  to  the  female  members  of  his 


262  THE   CONVERT 

family,  on  his  public  declaration  of  their  lack  of  sufficient  intel 
ligence  to  entitle  them  to  one.' 

'Oh!  oh!' 

'Now,  I  ask  you  to  listen  as  quietly  as  you  can  to  a  lady  who 
is  not  accustomed  to  speaking  —  a  —  in  Trafalgar  Square,  or 
—  a  —  as  a  matter  of  fact,  at  all.' 

'A  dumb  lady!' 

'  Hooray!' 

'Three  cheers  for  the  dumb  lady!' 

The  chairman  was  dreadfully  flustered  at  the  unfortunate 
turn  his  speech  had  taken. 

'A  lady  who,  as  I've  said,  will  tell  you,  if  you'll  behave  your 
selves  ' 

'Oh!  oh!' 

'Will  tell  you  something  of  her  impression  of  police-court 
justice  in  this  country.' 

Jean  stole  a  wondering  look  at  Stonor's  sphinx-like  face  as  Vida 
Levering  came  forward. 

There  she  stood,  obviously  very  much  frightened,  with  the 
unaccustomed  colour  coming  and  going  in  her  white  face  — 
farther  back  than  any  of  the  practised  speakers  —  there  she  stood 
like  one  who  too  much  values  the  space  between  her  and  the  mob 
voluntarily  to  lessen  it  by  half  an  inch.  The  voice  was  steady 
enough,  though  low,  as  she  began. 

'Mr.  Chairman,  men,  and  women \ 

'Speak  up.' 

She  flushed,  came  nearer  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and 
raised  the  key  a  little. 

'  I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  that  I  was  —  I  was  present  in  the 
police  court  when  the  women  were  charged  for  creating  a  dis 
turbance.' 

'You  oughtn't  to  get  mix'd  up  in  wot  didn't  concern  you!' 

'I  —  I '     She  stumbled  and  stopped. 

'Give  the  lady  a  hearing,'  said  a  shabby  art-student,  magis 
terially.  He  seemed  not  ill-pleased  when  he  had  drawn  a  certain 
number  of  eyes  to  his  long  hair,  picturesque  hat,  and  flowing 
Byronic  tie. 

'Wot's  the  lydy's  nyme?' 

'I  ain't  seen  this  one  before.' 


THE   CONVERT  263 

'Is  she  Mrs.  or  Miss?' 

'She's  dumb,  anyway,  like  'e  said.' 

'Haw!  haw!' 

The  anxious  chairman  was  fidgeting  in  an  agony  of  appre 
hension.  He  whispered  some  kind  prompting  word  after  he  had 
flung  out  — 

'Now,  see  here,  men;    fair  play,  you  know/ 

'I  think  I  ought—  Vida  began. 

'No  wonder  she  can't  find  a  word  to  say  for  'em.  They're 
a  disgryce,  miss  —  them  women  behind  you.  It's  the  w'y  they 
goes  on  as  mykes  the  Govermint  keep  ye  from  gettin'  yer  rights.' 

The  chairman  had  lost  his  temper.  'It's  the  way  you  go  on/ 
he  screamed;  but  the  din  was  now  so  great,  not  even  he  could  be 
heard.  He  stood  there  waving  his  arms  and  moving  his  lips 
while  his  dark  eyes  glittered. 

Miss  Levering  turned  and  pantomimed  to  Ernestine,  'You  see 
it's  no  use  ! ' 

Thus  appealed  to,  the  girl  came  forward,  and  said  something 
in  the  ear  of  the  frantic  chairman.  When  he  stopped  gyrating, 
and  nodded,  Miss  Blunt  came  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and 
held  up  her  hand  as  if  determined  to  stem  this  tide  of  unfavourable 
comment  upon  the  dreadful  women  who  were  complicating  the 
Election  difficulties  of  both  parties. 

'Listen,'  says  Ernestine;  'I've  got  something  to  propose.' 
They  waited  an  instant  to  hear  what  this  precious  proposal  might 
be.  'If  the  Government  withholds  the  vote  because  they  don't 
like  the  way  some  of  us  ask  for  it,  let  them  give  it  to  the  quiet 
ones.  Do  they  want  to  punish  all  women  because  they  don't 
like  the  manners  of  a  handful?  Perhaps  that's  men's  notion  of 
justice.  It  isn't  ours.' 

'Haw!    haw!' 

'Yes'  —  Miss  Levering  plucked  up  courage,  seeing  her  friend 
sailing  along  so  safely.  'This  is  the  first  time  I've  ever  "gone 
on,"  as  you  call  it,  but  they  never  gave  me  a  vote.' 

lNoJ  says  Miss  Ernestine,  with  energy — 'and  there  are'- 
she    turned    briskly,    with    forefinger    uplifted    punctuating    her 
count — 'there  are   two,   three,   four  women  on  this  platform. 
Now,  we  all  want  the  vote,  as  you  know.' 

'Lord,  yes,  we  know  that? 


264  THE   CONVERT 

'Well,  we'd  agree  to  be  disfranchised  all  our  lives  if  they'd 
give  the  vote  to  all  the  other  women.' 

'Look  here !     You  made  one  speech  —  give  the  lady  a  chance.' 

Miss  Blunt  made  a  smiling  little  bob  of  triumph.  'That's 
just  what  I  wanted  you  to  say  ! '  And  she  retired. 

Miss  Levering  came  forward  again.  But  the  call  to  'go  on' 
had  come  a  little  suddenly. 

'Perhaps  you  —  you  don't  know  —  you  don't  know ' 

'How're  we  going  to  know  if  you  can't  tell  us?'  demanded  a 
sarcastic  voice. 

It  steadied  her.  'Thank  you  for  that,'  she  said,  smiling. 
'We  couldn't  have  a  better  motto.  How  are  you  to  know  if  we 
can't  somehow  manage  to  tell  you?'  With  a  visible  effort  she 
went  on,  'Well,  /  certainly  didn't  know  before  that  the  sergeants 
and  policemen  are  instructed  to  deceive  the  people  as  to  the  time 
such  cases  are  heard.' 

'It's  just  as  hard,'  said  a  bystander  to  his  companion,  ljust 
as  hard  for  learned  counsel  in  the  august  quiet  of  the  Chancery 
Division  to  find  out  when  their  cases  are  really  coming  on.' 

'You  ask,  and  you're  sent  to  Marlborough  Police  Court,'  said 
Miss  Levering,  'instead  of  to  Marylebone.' 

'They  oughter  send  yer  to  'Olloway  —  do  y'  good.' 

'You  go  on,  miss.     Nobody  minds  'im.' 

'Wot  can  you  expect  from  a  pig  but  a  grunt?' 

'You  are  told  the  case  will  be  at  two  o'clock,  and  it's  really 
called  for  eleven.  Well,  I  took  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  I 
didn't  believe  what  I  was  told.'  She  was  warming  a  little  to  her 
task.  'Yes,  that's  almost  the  first  thing  we  have  to  learn — to 
get  over  our  touching  faith  that  because  a  man  tells  us  something, 
it's  true.  I  got  to  the  right  court,  and  I  was  so  anxious  not  to 
be  late,  I  was  too  early.' 

'  Like  a  woman  ! ' 

'The  case  before  the  Suffragists'  was  just  coming  on.  I  heard 
a  noise.  I  saw  the  helmets  of  two  policemen.' 

'No,  you  didn't.     They  don't  wear  their  helmets  in  court.' 

'They  were  coming  in  from  the  corridor.  As  I  saw  them,  I 
said  to  myself,  "What  sort  of  crime  shall  I  have  to  sit  and  hear 
about?  Is  this  a  burglar  being  brought  along  between  the  two 
big  policemen,  or  will  it  be  a  murderer?  What  sort  of  felon  is 


THE   CONVERT  265 

to  stand  in  the  dock  before  the  people,  whose  crime  is,  they  ask 
for  the  vote  ? '  But  try  as  I  would,  I  couldn't  see  the  prisoner.  My 
heart  misgave  me.  Is  it  some  poor  woman,  I  wondered?' 

A  tipsy  tramp,  with  his  batteied  bowler  over  one  eye,  wheezed 
out,  '  Drunk  again  ! '  with  an  accent  of  weary  philosophy.  '  Syme 
old  tyle.' 

'Then  the  policemen  got  nearer,  and  I  saw'  —  she  waited  an 
instant — 'a  little  thin,  half-starved  boy.  What  do  you  think 
he  was  charged  with?' 

'Travellin'  first  with  a  third-class  ticket.'  A  boy  offered  a 
page  out  of  personal  history. 

'Stealing.  What  had  he  been  stealing,  that  small  criminal? 
Milk.  It  seemed  to  me,  as  I  sat  there  looking  on,  that  the  men 
who  had  had  the  affairs  of  the  world  in  their  hands  from  the  begin 
ning,  and  who've  made  so  poor  a  business  of  it  — 

'  Oh,  pore  devils  !   give  'em  a  rest ! ' 

'Who've  made  so  bad  a  business  of  it  as  to  have  the  poor  and 
the  unemployed  in  the  condition  they're  in  to-day,  whose  only 
remedy  for  a  starving  child  is  to  hale  him  off  to  the  police  court, 
because  he  had  managed  to  get  a  little  milk,  well,  I  did  wonder 
that  the  men  refuse  to  be  helped  with  a  problem  they've  so  noto 
riously  failed  at.  I  began  to  say  to  myself,  "Isn't  it  time  the 
women  lent  a  hand?" 

'  Doin'  pretty  well  fur  a  dumb  lady ! ' 

'Would  you  have  women  magistrates?' 

She  was  stumped  by  the  suddenness  of  the  query. 

'Haw!   haw!     Magistrates  and  judges  !     Women!1 

'  Let  'em  prove  first  they're  able  to  — 

It  was  more  than  the  shabby  art-student  could  stand. 

'The  schools  are  full  of  them!'  he  shouted.  'Where's  their 
Michael  Angelo?  They  study  music  by  thousands:  where's 
their  Beethoven?  Where's  their  Plato?  Where's  the  woman 
Shakespeare  ? ' 

'Where's  their  Harry  Lander?' 

At  last  a  name  that  stirred  the  general  enthusiasm. 

'Who  is  Harry  Lauder?'  Jean  asked  her  aunt. 

Lady  John  shook  her  head. 

'Yes,  wot  'ave  women  ever  done?' 

The  speaker  had  clenched  her  hands,  but  she  was  not  going 


266  THE   CONVERT 

to  lose  her  presence  of  mind  again.  By  the  time  the  chairman 
could  make  himself  heard  with,  'Now,  men,  it's  one  of  our  British 
characteristics  that  we're  always  ready  to  give  the  people  we  differ 
from  a  hearing,'  Miss  Levering,  making  the  slightest  of  gestures, 
waved  him  aside  with  a  low  — 

'It's  all  right.' 

'These  questions  are  quite  proper,'  she  said,  raising  her  voice. 
'They  are  often  asked  elsewhere;  and  I  would  like  to  ask  in 
return :  Since  when  was  human  society  held  to  exist  for  its  hand 
ful  of  geniuses  ?  How  many  Platos  are  there  here  in  this  crowd  ? ' 

'  Divil  a  wan ! '  And  a  roar  of  laughter  followed  that  free  con 
fession. 

'Not  one,'  she  repeated.  'Yet  that  doesn't  keep  you  men  off 
the  register.  How  many  Shakespeares  are  there  in  all  England 
to-day?  Not  one.  Yet  the  State  doesn't  tumble  to  pieces. 
Railroads  and  ships  are  built,  homes  are  kept  going,  and  babies 
are  born.  The  world  goes  on'  —  she  bent  over  the  crowd  with 
lit  eyes  —  'the  world  goes  on  by  virtue  of  its  common  people.' 

There  was  a  subdued  '  Hear !  hear ! ' 

'I  am  not  concerned  that  you  should  think  we  women  could 
paint  great  pictures,  or  compose  immortal  music,  or  write  good 
books.  I  am  content '  —  and  it  was  strange  to  see  the  pride  with 
which  she  said  it,  a  pride  that  might  have  humbled  Vere  de 
Vere  —  '  I  am  content  that  we  should  be  classed  with  the  common 
people,  who  keep  the  world  going.  But '  —  her  face  grew  softer, 
there  was  even  a  kind  of  camaraderie  where  before  there  had 
been  shrinking  —  'I'd  like  the  world  to  go  a  great  deal  better. 
We  were  talking  about  justice.  I  have  been  inquiring  into  the 
kind  of  lodging  the  poorest  class  of  homeless  women  can  get  in 
this  town  of  London.  I  find  that  only  the  men  of  that  class  are 
provided  for.  Some  measure  to  establish  Rowton  Houses  for 
Women  has  been  before  the  London  County  Council.  They 
looked  into  the  question  very  carefully  —  so  their  apologists  say. 
And  what  did  they  decide?  They  decided  that  they  could  do 
nothing. 

'Why  could  that  great,  all-powerful  body  do  nothing?  Be 
cause,  they  said,  if  these  cheap  and  decent  houses  were  opened, 
the  homeless  women  in  the  streets  wrould  make  use  of  them. 
You'll  think  I'm  not  in  earnest,  but  that  was  actually  the  decision, 


THE   CONVERT  267 

and  the  reason  given  for  it.  Women  that  the  bitter  struggle  for 
existence  had  forced  into  a  life  of  horror  might  take  advantage 
of  the  shelter  these  decent,  cheap  places  offered.  But  the  men, 
I  said !  Are  the  men  who  avail  themselves  of  Lord  Rowton's 
hostels,  are  they  all  angels?  Or  does  wrong-doing  in  a  man  not 
matter  ?  Yet  women  are  recommended  to  depend  on  the  chivalry 
of  men ! ' 

The  two  tall  policemen  who  had  been  standing  for  some  minutes 
in  front  of  Mr.  Stonor  in  readiness  to  serve  him,  seeming  to  feel 
there  was  no  further  need  of  them  in  this  quarter,  shouldered  their 
way  to  the  left,  leaving  exposed  the  hitherto  masked  figure  of 
the  tall  gentleman  in  the  motor  cap.  He  moved  uneasily,  and, 
looking  round,  he  met  Jean's  eyes  fixed  on  him.  As  each  looked 
away  again,  each  saw  that  for  the  first  time  Vida  Levering  had 
become  aware  of  his  presence.  A  change  passed  over  her  face, 
and  her  figure  swayed  as  if  some  species  of  mountain-sickness 
had  assailed  her,  looking  down  from  that  perilous  high  perch  of 
hers  upon  the  things  of  the  plain.  While  the  people  were  asking 
one  another,  'What  is  it?  Is  she  going  to  faint?'  she  lifted  one 
hand  to  her  eyes,  and  her  fingers  trembled  an  instant  against  the 
lowered  lids.  But  as  suddenly  as  she  had  faltered,  she  was  forging 
on  again,  repeating  like  an  echo  of  a  thing  heard  in  a  dream  — 

'  Justice  and  chivalry !  Justice  and  chivalry  remind  me  of 
the  story  that  those  of  you  who  read  the  police-court  news  — 
I  have  begun  only  lately  to  do  that  —  but  you've  seen  the  accounts 
of  the  girl  who's  been  tried  in  Manchester  lately  for  the  murder 
of  her  child.' 

People  here  and  there  in  the  crowd  regaled  one  another  with 
choice  details  of  the  horror. 

'Not  pleasant  reading.  Even  if  we'd  noticed  it,  we  wouldn't 
speak  of  it  in  my  world.  A  few  months  ago  I  should  have  turned 
away  my  eyes  and  forgotten  even  the  headline  as  quickly  as  I 
could.' 

'My  opinion,'  said  a  shrewd-looking  young  man,  'is  that  she's 
forgot  what  she  meant  to  say,  and  just  clutched  at  this  to  keep 
her  from  drying  up.' 

'Since  that  morning  in  the  police-court  I  read  these  things. 
This,  as  you  know,  was  the  story  of  a  working  girl  —  an  orphan 
of  seventeen  —  who  crawled  with  the  dead  body  of  her  new-born 


268  THE   CONVERT 

child  to  her  master's  back  door  and  left  the  baby  there.  She 
dragged  herself  a  little  way  off  and  fainted.  A  few  days  later 
she  found  herself  in  court  being  tried  for  the  murder  of  her  child. 
Her  master,  a  married  man,  had  of  course  reported  the  "find" 
at  his  back  door  to  the  police,  and  he  had  been  summoned  to  give 
evidence.  The  girl  cried  out  to  him  in  the  open  court,  "You  are 
the  father!"  He  couldn't  deny  it.  The  coroner,  at  the  jury's 
request,  censured  the  man,  and  regretted  that  the  law  didn't 
make  him  responsible.  But '  —  she  leaned  down  from  the  plinth 
with  eyes  blazing  —  '  he  went  scot  free.  And  that  girl  is  at  this 
moment  serving  her  sentence  in  Strangeways  Gaol.' 

Through  the  moved  and  murmuring  crowd,  Jean  forced  her 
way,  coming  in  between  Lady  John  and  Stonor,  who  stood  there 
immovable.  The  girl  strained  to  bring  her  lips  near  his  ear. 

'Why  do  you  dislike  her  so?' 

'I?'   he  said.     'Why  should  you  think ' 

'  I  never  saw  you  look  as  you  did ; '  with  a  vaguely  frightened 
air  she  added,  'as  you  do.' 

'  Men  make  boast '  —  the  voice  came  clear  from  the  monument 
—  '  that  an  English  citizen  is  tried  by  his  peers.  What  woman 
is  tried  by  hers?' 

'She  mistakes  the  sense  in  which  the  word  was  employed/  said 
a  man  who  looked  like  an  Oxford  Don. 

But  there  was  evidently  a  sense,  larger  than  that  one  purely 
academic,  in  which  her  use  of  the  word  could  claim  its  pertinence. 
The  strong  feeling  that  had  seized  her  as  she  put  the  question 
was  sweeping  the  crowd  along  with  her. 

'A  woman  is  arrested  by  a  man,  brought  before  a  man  judge, 
tried  by  a  jury  of  men,  condemned  by  men,  taken  to  prison  by 
a  man,  and  by  a  man  she's  hanged !  Where  in  all  this  were  her 
"peers"?  Why  did  men,  when  British  justice  was  born  —  why 
did  they  so  long  ago  insist  on  trial  by  "a  jury  of  their  peers"? 
So  that  justice  shouldn't  miscarry  —  wasn't  it  ?  A  man's  peers 
would  best  understand  his  circumstances,  his  temptation,  the 
degree  of  his  guilt.  Yet  there's  no  such  unlikeness  between 
different  classes  of  men  as  exists  between  man  and  woman.  What 
man  has  the  knowledge  that  makes  him  a  fit  judge  of  woman's 
deeds  at  that  time  of  anguish  —  that  hour  that  some  woman 
struggled  through  to  put  each  man  here  into  the  world.  I  noticed 


THE   CONVERT  269 

when  a  previous  speaker  quoted  the  Labour  Party,  you  applauded. 
Some  of  you  here,  I  gather,  call  yourselves  Labour  men.  Every 
woman  who  has  borne  a  child  is  a  Labour  woman.  No  man 
among  you  can  judge  what  she  goes  through  in  her  hour  of  dark 
ness.' 

Jean's  eyes  had  dropped  from  her  lover's  set  white  face  early 
in  the  recital.  But  she  whispered  his  name. 

He  seemed  not  to  hear. 

The  speaker  up  there  had  caught  her  fluttering  breath,  and 
went  on  so  low  that  people  strained  to  follow. 

'  In  that  great  agony,  even  under  the  best  conditions  that  money 
and  devotion  can  buy,  many  a  woman  falls  into  temporary  mania, 
and  not  a  few  go  down  to  death.  In  the  case  of  this  poor  little 
abandoned  working  girl,  what  man  can  be  the  fit  judge  of  her 
deeds  in  that  awful  moment  of  half-crazed  temptation?  Women 
know  of  these  things  as  those  know  burning  who  have  walked 
through  fire.' 

Stonor  looked  down  at  the  girl  at  his  side.  He  saw  her  hands 
go  up  to  her  throat  as  though  she  were  suffocating.  The  young 
face,  where  some  harsh  knowledge  was  struggling  for  birth,  was 
in  pity  turned  away  from  the  man  she  loved. 

The  woman  leaned  down  from  the  platform,  and  spoke  her 
last  words  with  a  low  and  thrilling  earnestness. 

'I  would  say  in  conclusion  to  the  women  here,  it's  not  enough 
to  be  sorry  for  these,  our  unfortunate  sisters.  We  must  get  the 
conditions  of  life  made  fairer.  We  women  must  organize.  We 
must  learn  to  work  together.  We  have  all  (rich  and  poor,  happy 
and  unhappy)  worked  so  long  and  so  exclusively  for  men,  we 
hardly  know  how  to  work  for  one  another.  But  we  must  learn. 
Those  who  can,  may  give  money.  Those  who  haven't  pennies 
to  give,  even  those  people  are  not  so  poor  but  what  they  can  give 
some  part  of  their  labour  —  some  share  of  their  sympathy  and 
support.  I  know  of  a  woman  —  she  isn't  of  our  country  —  but 
a  woman  who,  to  help  the  women  strikers  of  an  oppressed  industry 
to  hold  out,  gave  a  thousand  pounds  a  week  for  thirteen  weeks 
to  get  them  and  their  children  bread,  and  help  them  to  stand 
firm.  The  masters  were  amazed.  Week  after  week  went  by, 
and  still  the  people  weren't  starved  into  submission.  Where 
did  this  mysterious  stream  of  help  come  from?  The  employers 


270  THE   CONVERT 

couldn't  discover,  and  they  gave  in.  The  women  got  back  their 
old  wages,  and  I  am  glad  to  say  many  of  them  began  to  put  by 
pennies  to  help  a  little  to  pay  back  the  great  sum  that  had  been 
advanced  to  them.' 

'  She  took  their  pennies  —  a  rich  woman  like  that  ? ' 

'Yes  —  to  use  again,  as  well  as  to  let  the  working  women  feel 
they  were  helping  others.  I  hope  you'll  all  join  the  Union.  Come 
up  after  the  meeting  is  over  and  give  us  your  names.' 

As  she  turned  away,  'You  won't  get  any  men  !'  a  taunting  voice 
called  after  her. 

The  truth  in  the  gibe  seemed  to  sting.  Forestalling  the  chair 
man,  quickly  she  confronted  the  people  again,  a  new  fire  in  her 
eyes. 

' Then/  she  said,  holding  out  her  hands  —  '  then  it  is  to  the 
women  I  appeal!'  She  stood  so  an  instant,  stilling  the  murmur, 
and  holding  the  people  by  that  sudden  concentration  of  passion 
in  her  face.  'I  don't  mean  to  say  it  wouldn't  be  better  if  men 
and  women  did  this  work  together,  shoulder  to  shoulder.  But 
the  mass  of  men  won't  have  it  so.  I  only  hope  they'll  realize  in 
time  the  good  they've  renounced  and  the  spirit  they've  aroused. 
For  I  know  as  well  as  any  man  could  tell  me,  it  would  be  a  bad 
day  for  England  if  all  women  felt  about  all  men  as  I  do.' 

She  retired  in  a  tumult.  The  others  on  the  platform  closed 
about  her.  The  chairman  tried  in  vain  to  get  a  hearing  from  the 
swaying  and  dissolving  crowd. 

Jean  made  a  blind  forward  movement  towards  the  monument. 
Stonor  called  out,  in  a  toneless  voice  — 

'Here!    follow  me!' 

'No  —  no  —  I '     The  girl  pressed  on. 

*  You're  going  the  wrong  way.' 

'  This  is  the  way 

'We  can  get  out  quicker  on  this  side.' 

'I  don't  want  to  get  out.' 

'What?' 

He  had  left  Lady  John,  and  was  following  Jean  through  the 
press. 

1  Where  are  you  going  ? '  he  asked  sharply. 

'To  ask  that  woman  to  let  me  have  the  honour  of  working 
with  her.' 


THE   CONVERT  271 

The  crowd  surged  round  the  girl. 

'  Jean ! '   he  called  upon  so  stern  a  note  that  people  stared  and 
stopped. 

Others  —  not  Jean. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A  LITTLE  before  six  o'clock  on  that  same  Sunday,  Jean  Dun- 
barton  opened  the  communicating  door  between  her  own  little 
sitting-room  and  the  big  bare  drawing-room  of  her  grandfather's 
house  in  Eaton  Square.  She  stood  a  moment  on  the  threshold, 
looking  back  over  her  shoulder,  and  then  crossed  the  drawing- 
room,  treading  softly  on  the  parquet  spaces  between  the  rugs. 
She  went  straight  to  the  window,  and  was  in  the  act  of  parting 
the  lace  curtains  to  look  out,  when  she  heard  the  folding  doors 
open.  With  raised  finger  she  turned  to  say  '  Sh ! '  The  servant 
stood  silently  waiting,  while  she  went  back  to  the  door  she  had 
left  open  and  with  an  air  of  caution  closed  it. 

When  she  turned  round  again  the  butler  had  stepped  aside  to 
admit  Mr.  Stonor.  He  came  in  with  a  quick  impatient  step; 
but  before  he  had  time  to  get  a  word  out —  'Speak  low,  please,' 
the  girl  said.  He  was  obviously  too  much  annoyed  to  pay  much 
heed  to  her  request,  which  if  he  thought  about  it  at  all,  he  must 
have  interpreted  as  consideration  for  the  ailing  grandfather. 

'I  waited  a  full  half-hour  for  you  to  come  back,'  he  said  in  a 
tone  no  lower  than  usual. 

The  girl  had  led  the  way  to  the  side  of  the  room  furthest  from 
the  communicating  door.  'I  am  sorry,'  she  said  dully. 

'If  you  didn't  mind  leaving  me  like  that,'  he  followed  her  up 
with  his  arraignment,  'you  might  at  least  have  considered  Lady 
John.' 

'Is  she  here  with  you?'  Jean  stopped  by  the  sofa  near  the 
window. 

'No,'  he  said  curtly.  'My  place  was  nearer  than  this  and  she 
was  tired.  I  left  her  to  get  some  tea.  We  couldn't  tell  whether 
you'd  be  here,  or  what  had  become  of  you!' 

'Mr.  Trent  got  us  a  hansom.' 

'Trent?' 

'  The  chairman  of  the  meeting.' 

'Got  us ?' 

272 


THE   CONVERT  273 

'Miss  Levering  and  me.' 

Stonor's  incensed  face  turned  almost  brick  colour  as  he  re 
peated,  *  Miss  Lev 1 ' 

Before  he  got  the  name  out,  the  folding  doors  had  opened  again, 
and  the  butler  was  saying,  'Mr.  Farnborough.' 

That  young  gentleman  was  far  too  anxious  and  flurried  himself, 
to  have  sufficient  detachment  of  mind  to  consider  the  moods  of 
other  people.  'At  last!'  he  said,  stopping  short  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  Stonor. 

'Don't  speak  loud,  please,'  said  Miss  Dunbarton;  'some  one  is 
resting  in  the  next  room.' 

'  Oh,  did  you  find  your  grandfather  worse  ? '  —  but  he  never 
waited  to  learn.     'You'll  forgive  the  incursion  when  you  hear'  - 
he  turned  abruptly  to  Stonor  again.     'They've  been  telegraphing 
you  all  over  London,'  he  said,  putting  his  hat  down  in  the  nearest 
chair.     '  In  sheer  despair  they  set  me  on  your  track.' 

'Who  did?' 

Farnborough  was  fumbling  agitatedly  in  his  breast-pocket. 
'There  was  the  devil  to  pay  at  Dutfield  last  night.  The  Liberal 
chap  tore  down  from  London,  and  took  over  your  meeting.' 

'Oh?    Nothing  about  it  in  the  Sunday  paper  I  saw.' 

'  Wait  till  you  see  the  press  to-morrow  !  There  was  a  great  rally, 
and  the  beggar  made  a  rousing  speech.' 

'What  about?' 

'Abolition  of  the  Upper  House.' 

'They  were  at  that  when  I  was  at  Eton.'  Stonor  turned  on  his 
heel. 

'  Yes,  but  this  man  has  got  a  way  of  putting  things  —  the  people 
went  mad.' 

It  was  all  very  well  for  a  mere  girl  to  be  staring  indifferently  out 
of  the  window,  while  a  great  historic  party  was  steering  straight 
for  shipwreck;  but  it  really  was  too  much  to  see  this  man  who 
ought  to  be  taking  the  situation  with  the  seriousness  it  deserved, 
strolling  about  the  room  with  that  abstracted  air,  looking  super 
ciliously  at  Mr.  Dunbarton's  examples  of  the  Glasgow  school. 
Farnborough  balanced  himself  on  wide-apart  legs  and  thrust  one 
hand  in  his  trousers'  pocket.  The  other  hand  held  a  telegram. 
'The  Liberal  platform  as  defined  at  Dutfield  is  going  to  make  a 
big  difference,'  he  pronounced. 


274  THE   CONVERT 

'You  think  so,'  said  Stonor,  dryly. 

'Well,  your  agent  says  as  much.'  He  pulled  off  the  orange- 
brown  envelope,  threw  it  and  the  reply-paid  form  on  the  table, 
and  held  the  message  under  the  eyes  of  the  obviously  surprised 
gentleman  in  front  of  him. 

1  My  agent ! '  Stonor  had  echoed  with  faint  incredulity. 

He  took  the  telegram.  '" Try  find  Stonor,'"  he  read.  'H'm! 
H'm  ! '  His  eyes  ran  on. 

Farnborough  looked  first  at  the  expressionless  face,  and  then  at 
the  message. 

'You  see!'  —  he  glanced  over  Stonor's  shoulder  —  '"tremen 
dous  effect  of  last  night's  Liberal  manifesto  ought  to  be  counteracted 
in  to-morrow's  papers."'  Then  withdrawing  a  couple  of  paces, 
he  said  very  earnestly,  'You  see,  Mr.  Stonor,  it's  a  battle-cry  we 
want.' 

'Clap-trap,'  said  the  great  man,  throwing  the  telegram  down  on 
the  table. 

'Well,'  said  Farnborough,  distinctly  dashed,  'they've  been  say 
ing  we  have  nothing  to  offer  but  personal  popularity.  No  prac 
tical  reform,  no  — 

'No  truckling  to  the  masses,  I  suppose.' 

Poor  Farnborough  bit  his  lip.  'Well,  in  these  democratic 

days,  you're  obliged  (I  should  think),  to  consider '  In  his 

baulked  and  snubbed  condition  he  turned  to  Miss  Dunbarton  for 
countenance.  'I  hope  you'll  forgive  my  bursting  in  like  this, 
but '  —  he  gathered  courage  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  averted 
face  —  'I  can  see  you  realize  the  gravity  of  the  situation.'  He 
found  her  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  and  went  on  with  an 
air  of  speaking  for  her  ear  alone.  'My  excuse  for  being  so  offi 
cious  —  you  see  it  isn't  as  if  he  were  going  to  be  a  mere  private 
member.  Everybody  knows  he'll  be  in  the  Cabinet.' 

'It  may  be  a  Liberal  Cabinet,'  came  from  Stonor  at  his  dryest. 

Farnborough  leapt  back  into  the  fray.  'Nobody  thought  so 

up  to  last  night.  Why,  even  your  brother '  he  brought  up 

short.  'But  I'm  afraid  I'm  really  seeming  rather  too '  He 

took  up  his  hat. 

'What  about  my  brother?' 

'  Oh,  only  that  I  went  from  your  house  to  the  club,  you  know  — 
and  I  met  Lord  Windlesham  as  I  rushed  up  the  Carlton  steps.' 


THE   CONVERT  275 

'Well?1 

'I  told  him  the  Dutfield  news/ 

Stonor  turned  sharply  round.  His  face  was  much  more  inter 
ested  than  any  of  his  words  had  been. 

As  though  in  the  silence,  Stonor  had  asked  a  question,  Farn- 
borough  produced  the  answer. 

'Your  brother  said  it  only  confirmed  his  fears.' 

'  Said  that,  did  he  ? '     Stonor  spoke  half  under  his  breath. 

'Yes.  Defeat  is  inevitable,  he  thinks,  unless—  Farn- 

borough  waited,  intently  watching  the  big  figure  that  had  begun 
pacing  back  and  forth.  It  paused,  but  no  word  came,  even  the 
eyes  were  not  raised. 

'Unless,'  Farnborough  went  on,  'you  can  manufacture  some 
political  dynamite  within  the  next  few  hours.  Those  were  his 
words.' 

As  Stonor  resumed  his  walk  he  raised  his  head  and  caught  sight 
of  Jean's  face.  He  stopped  short  directly  in  front  of  her. 

'You  are  very  tired,'  he  said. 

'No,  no.'     She  turned  again  to  the  window. 

'I'm  obliged  to  you  for  troubling  about  this,'  he  said,  offering 
Farnborough  his  hand  with  the  air  of  civilly  dismissing  him. 
'I'll  see  what  can  be  done.' 

Farnborough  caught  up  the  reply-paid  form  from  the  table. 
'If  you'd  like  to  wire  I'll  take  it.' 

Faintly  amused  at  this  summary  view  of  large  complexities, 
'You  don't  understand,  my  young  friend,'  he  said,  not  unkindly. 
'  Moves  of  this  sort  are  not  rushed  at  by  responsible  politicians.  I 
must  have  time  for  consideration.' 

Farnborough's  face  fell.  'Oh.  Well,  I  only  hope  some  one 
else  won't  jump  into  the  breach  before  you.'  With  his  watch  in 
one  hand,  he  held  out  the  other  to  Miss  Dunbarton.  '  Good-bye. 
I'll  just  go  and  find  out  what  time  the  newspapers  go  to  press  on 
Sunday.  I'll  be  at  the  Club,'  he  threw  over  his  shoulder,  'just 
in  case  I  can  be  of  any  use.' 

'  No ;  don't  do  that.     If  I  should  have  anything  new  to  say  — 

'B-b-but  with  our  party,  as  your  brother  said,  "heading  straight 
for  a  vast  electoral  disaster,"  and  the  Liberals  — 

'If  I  decide  on  a  counter-blast,  I  shall  simply  telegraph  to  head 
quarters.  Good-bye.' 


276  THE   CONVERT 

'  Oh !     A  —  a  —  good-bye.' 

With  a  gesture  of  'the  country's  going  to  the  dogs,'  Farnborough 
opened  the  doors  and  closed  them  behind  him. 

Jean  had  rung  the  bell.  She  came  back  with  her  eyes  on  the 
ground,  and  paused  near  the  table  where  the  crumpled  envelope 
made  a  dash  of  yellow-brown  on  the  polished  satinwood.  Stonor 
stood  studying  the  carpet,  more  concern  in  his  face  now  that  there 
was  only  Jean  to  see  it. 

'" Political  dynamite,"  eh?'  he  repeated,  walking  a  few  paces 
away.  He  returned  with,  '  After  all,  women  are  much  more  Con 
servative  naturally  than  men,  aren't  they?' 

Jean's  lowered  eyes  showed  no  spark  of  interest  in  the  issue. 
Her  only  motion,  an  occasional  locking  and  unlocking  of  her 
fingers.  But  no  words  came.  He  glanced  at  her,  as  if  for  the 
first  time  conscious  of  her  silence. 

'You  see  now'  -—  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair  —  'one  reason 
why  I've  encouraged  you  to  take  an  interest  in  public  questions. 
Because  people  like  us  don't  go  screaming  about  it,  is  no  sign  we 
don't  —  some  of  us  —  see  what's  on  the  way.  However  little  they 
may  want  to,  women  of  our  class  will  have  to  come  into  line.  All 
the  best  things  in  the  world,  everything  civilization  has  won,  will 
be  in  danger  if  —  when  this  change  comes  —  the  only  women  who 
have  practical  political  training  are  the  women  of  the  lower  classes. 
Women  of  the  lower  classes,'  he  repeated, '  andj  —  the  line  between 
his  eyebrows  deepening  — '  women  inoculated  by  the  Socialist 
virus.' 

'Geoffrey!' 

He  was  in  no  mood  to  discuss  a  concrete  type.  To  so  intelligent 
a  girl,  a  hint  should  be  enough.  He  drew  the  telegraph-form  that 
still  lay  on  the  table  towards  him. 

'  Let  us  see  how  it  would  sound,  shall  we  ? ' 

He  detached  a  gold  pencil  from  one  end  of  his  watch-chain, 
and,  with  face  more  and  more  intent,  bent  over  the  paper, 
writing. 

The  girl  opened  her  lips  more  than  once  to  speak,  and  each  time 
fell  back  again  on  her  silent,  half-incredulous  misery. 

When  Stonor  finished  writing,  he  held  the  paper  off,  smiling  a 
little,  with  the  craftsman's  satisfaction  in  his  work,  and  more  than 
a  touch  of  shrewd  malice  — 


THE   CONVERT  277 

'Enough  dynamite  in  that,'  he  commented.  'Rather  too  much, 
isn't  there,  little  girl  ? ' 

'Geoffrey,  I  know  her  story.' 

He  looked  at  her  for  the  first  time  since  Farnborough  left  the 
room. 

'Whose  story?' 

'Miss  Levering's.' 

'  Whose  ? '  He  crushed  the  rough  note  of  his  manifesto  into  his 
pocket. 

'Vida  Levering's.' 

He  stared  at  the  girl,  till  across  the  moment's  silence  a  cry  of 
misery  went  out  — 

'Why  did  you  desert  her?' 

'I?'  he  said,  like  one  staggered  by  the  sheer  wildness  of  the 
charge.  '/.?' 

But  no  comfort  of  doubting  seemed  to  cross  the  darkness  of 
Jean's  backward  look  into  the  past. 

'Oh,  why  did  you  do  it?' 

'  What,  in  the  name  of ?  What  has  she  been  saying  to 

you?' 

'Some  one  else  told  me  part.  Then  the  way  you  looked  when 
you  saw  her  at  Aunt  Ellen's  —  Miss  Levering's  saying  you  didn't 
know  her  —  then  your  letting  out  that  you  knew  even  the  curious 
name  on  the  handkerchief  —  oh,  I  pieced  it  together.' 

While  she  poured  out  the  disjointed  sentences,  he  had  recovered 
his  self-possession. 

'Your  ingenuity  is  undeniable,'  he  said  coldly,  rising  to  his  feet. 
But  he  paused  as  the  girl  went  on  — 

'And  then  when  she  said  that  at  the  meeting  about  "the  dark 
hour,"  and  I  looked  at  her  face,  it  flashed  over  me  —  Oh,  why 
did  you  desert  her?' 

It  was  as  if  the  iteration  of  that  charge  stung  him  out  of  his  chill 
anger. 

'I  didn't  desert  her,'  he  said. 

'  Ah-h ! '  Her  hands  went  fluttering  up  to  her  eyes,  and  hid  the 
quivering  face.  Something  in  the  action  touched  him,  his  face 
changed,  and  he  made  a  sudden  passionate  movement  toward  the 
trembling  figure  standing  there  with  hidden  eyes.  In  another 
moment  his  arms  would  have  been  round  her.  Her  muffled  voice 


278  THE   CONVERT 

say  ing,'  I'm  glad.  I'm  glad/ checked  him.  He  stood  bewildered, 
making  with  noiseless  lips  the  word  'Glad?'  She  was  'glad'  he 
hadn't  tired  of  her  rival?  The  girl  brushed  the  tears  from  her 
eyes,  and  steadied  herself  against  the  table. 

'She  went  away  from  you,  then?' 

The  momentary  softening  had  vanished  out  of  Geoffrey  Stonor's 
face.  In  its  stead  the  look  of  aloofness  that  few  dared  brave,  the 
warning  'thus  far  and  no  farther'  stamped  on  every  feature,  he 
answered  — 

'You  can  hardly  expect  me  to  enter  into ' 

She  broke  through  the  barrier  without  ruth  —  such  strength, 
such  courage  has  honest  pain. 

'You  mean  she  went  away  from  you?' 

'Yes !'    The  sharp  monosyllable  fell  out  like  a  thing  metallic. 

'Was  that  because  you  wouldn't  marry  her?' 

'I  couldn't  marry  her  —  and  she  knew  it.'  He  turned  on  his 
heel. 

'Did  you  want  to?' 

He  paused  nearly  at  the  window,  and  looked  back  at  her.  She 
deserved  to  have  the  bare  'yes,'  but  she  was  a  child.  He  would 
soften  a  little  the  truth's  harsh  impact  upon  the  young  creature's 
shrinking  jealousy. 

'I  thought  I  wanted  to  marry  her  then.  It's  a  long  time 
ago/ 

'And  why  couldn't  you?' 

He  controlled  a  movement  of  strong  irritation.  'Why  are  you 
catechizing  me?  It's  a  matter  that  concerns  another  woman.' 

'If  you  say  it  doesn't  concern  me,  you're  saying'  —  her  lip 
trembled  —  'saying  that  you  don't  concern  me.' 

With  more  difficulty  than  the  girl  dreamed,  he  compelled  himself 
to  answer  quietly  — 

'  In  those  days  —  I  —  I  was  absolutely  dependent  on  my 
father.' 

'Why,  you  must  have  been  thirty,  Geoffrey.' 

'  What  ?     Oh  —  thereabouts.' 

'And  everybody  says  you're  so  clever/ 

'Well,  everybody's  mistaken.' 

She  left  the  table,  and  drew  nearer  to  him.  '  It  must  have  been 
terribly  hard ' 


THE   CONVERT  279 

Sounding  the  depth  of  sympathy  in  the  gentle  voice,  he  turned 
towards  her  to  meet  a  check  in  the  phrase  — 

'  —  —terribly  hard  for  you  both.' 

He  stood  there  stonily,  but  looking  rather  handsome  in  his  big, 
sulky  way.  The  sort  of  person  who  dictates  terms  rather  than  one 
to  accept  meekly  the  thing  that  might  befall. 

Something  of  that  overbearing  look  of  his  must  have  penetrated 
the  clouded  consciousness  of  the  girl,  for  she  was  saying  — 

1  You  !  a  man  like  you  not  to  have  had  the  freedom,  that  even  the 
lowest  seem  to  have ' 

1  Freedom  ? ' 

'To  marry  the  woman  they  choose/ 

'She  didn't  break  off  our  relations  because  I  couldn't  marry 
her/ 

'Why  was  it,  then?' 

'You're  too  young  to  discuss  such  a  story.'     He  turned  away. 

'I'm not  so  young, 'said  the  shaking  voice,  'as  she  was  when  — 

'Very  well,  then,  if  you  will  have  it ! '  His  look  was  ill  to  meet, 
for  any  one  who  loved  him.  'The  truth  is,  it  didn't  weigh  upon 
her  as  it  seems  to  on  you,  that  I  wasn't  able  to  marry  her.' 

'Why  are  you  so  sure  of  that?' 

'Because  she  didn't  so  much  as  hint  at  it  when  she  wrote  that 
she  meant  to  break  off  the  —  the ' 

'  What  made  her  write  like  that  ? ' 

'Why  will  you  go  on  talking  of  what's  so  long  over  and 
ended?' 

'What  reason  did  she  give?' 

'If  your  curiosity  has  so  got  the  upper  hand,  ask  her.' 

Her  eyes  were  upon  him.  In  a  whisper,  'You're  afraid  to  tell 
me,'  she  said. 

He  went  over  to  the  window,  seeming  to  wait  there  for  something 
that  did  not  come.  He  turned  round  at  last. 

'I  still  hoped,  at  that  time,  to  win  my  father  over.  She  blamed 
me  because '  —  again  he  faced  the  window  and  looked  blindly 
out  —  'if  the  child  had  lived  it  wouldn't  have  been  possible  to  get 
my  father  to  —  to  overlook  it.' 

'  You  —  wanted  —  it  overlooked  ? '  the  girl  said  faintly.  '  I  don't 
underst ' 

He  came  back  to  her  on  a  wave  of  passion.     'Of  course  you 


28o  THE   CONVERT 

don't  understand.  If  you  did  you  wouldn't  be  the  beautiful,  ten 
der,  innocent  child  you  are.'  He  took  her  hand,  and  tried  to  draw 
her  to  him. 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  and  shrank  from  him  with  a  movement, 
slight  as  it  was,  so  tragically  eloquent,  that  fear  for  the  first  time 
caught  hold  of  him. 

'I  am  glad  you  didn't  mean  to  desert  her,  Geoffrey.  It  wasn't 
your  fault,  after  all  —  only  some  misunderstanding  that  can  be 
cleared  up.' 

'Cleared  up?' 

'Yes,  cleared  up.' 

'You  aren't  thinking  that  this  miserable  old  affair  I'd  as  good 
as  forgotten ' 

He  did  not  see  the  horror-struck  glance  at  the  door,  but  he  heard 
the  whisper  — 

'  Forgotten  ! ' 

'No,  no'  —  he  caught  himself  up  —  'I  don't  mean  exactly  for 
gotten.  But  you're  torturing  me  so  that  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
saying.'  He  went  closer.  '  You  aren't  going  to  let  this  old  thing 
come  between  you  and  me?' 

She  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  and  then  took  it  away. 

'I  can't  make  or  unmake  the  past,'  she  said  steadily.  'But 
I'm  glad,  at  least,  that  you  didn't  mean  to  desert  her  in  her  trouble. 
You'll  remind  her  of  that  first  of  all,  won't  you?' 

She  was  moving  across  the  room  as  she  spoke,  and,  when  she 
had  ended,  the  handkerchief  went  quickly  to  her  lips  again  as  if 
to  shut  the  door  on  sobbing. 

'Where  are  you  going?'  He  raised  his  voice.  'Why  should 
I  remind  aw^body  of  what  I  want  only  to  forget  ? ' 

'  Hush !  Oh,  hush  ! '  A  moment  she  looked  back,  holding  up 
praying  hands. 

His  eyes  had  flown  to  the  door.     'You  don't  mean  she's ' 

'Yes.     I  left  her  to  get  a  little  rest.' 

He  recoiled  in  an  access  of  uncontrollable  anger.  She  followed 
him.  Speechless,  he  eluded  her,  and  went  for  his  hat. 

'Geoffrey,'  she  cried,  'don't  go  before  you  hear  me.  I  don't 
know  if  what  I  think  matters  to  you  now,  but  I  hope  it  does.  You 
can  still'  —  her  voice  was  faint  with  tears  —  'still  make  me  think 
of  you  without  shrinking  —  if  you  will.' 


THE   CONVERT  28* 

He  fixed  her  for  a  moment  with  eyes  more  stern  than  she  had 
ever  seen. 

'  What  is  it  you  are  asking  of  me  ? '  he  said. 

'To  make  amends,  Geoffrey.' 

His  anger  went  out  on  a  wave  of  pity.  'You  poor  little  inno 
cent  ! ' 

'I'm  poor  enough.  But'  —  she  locked  her  hands  together  like 
one  who  summons  all  her  resolution  —  'I'm  not  so  innocent  but 
what  I  know  you  must  right  that  old  wrong  now,  if  you're  ever  to 
right  it.' 

'  You  aren't  insane  enough  to  think  I  would  turn  round  in  these 
few  hours  and  go  back  to  something  that  ten  years  ago  was  ended 
forever ! '  As  he  saw  how  unmoved  her  face  was,  'Why,'  he  burst 
out,  l  it's  stark,  staring  madness ! ' 

'No  1'  She  caught  his  arm.  'What  you  did  ten  years  ago  — 
that  was  mad.  This  is  paying  a  debt.' 

Any  man  looking  on,  or  hearing  of  Stonor's  dilemma,  would 
have  said,  'Leave  the  girl  alone  to  come  to  her  senses.'  But  only 
a  stupid  man  would  himself  have  done  it.  Stonor  caught  her  two 
hands  in  his,  and  drew  her  into  his  arms. 

'  Look,  here,  Jeannie,  you're  dreadfully  wrought  up  and  excited 
-  tired,  too.' 

'  No ! '  She  freed  herself,  and  averted  the  tear-stained  face. 
'Not  tired,  though  I've  travelled  far  to-day.  I  know  you  smile 
at  sudden  conversions.  You  think  they're  hysterical  —  worse  — 
vulgar.  But  people  must  get  their  revelation  how  they  can.  And, 
Geoffrey,  if  I  can't  make  you  see  this  one  of  mine,  I  shall  know  your 
love  could  never  mean  strength  to  me  —  only  weakness.  And  I 
shall  be  afraid,'  she  whispered.  Her  dilated  eyes  might  have  seen 
a  ghost  lurking  there  in  the  commonplace  room.  'So  afraid  I 
should  never  dare  give  you  the  chance  of  making  me  loathe  myself.' 
There  was  a  pause,  and  out  of  the  silence  fell  words  that  were  like 
the  taking  of  a  vow.  '  I  would  never  see  you  again.' 

'  How  right  I  was  to  be  afraid  of  that  vein  of  fanaticism  in  you ! ' 

'  Certainly  you  couldn't  make  a  greater  mistake  than  to  go  away 
now  and  think  it  any  good  ever  to  come  back.  Even  if  I  came  to 
feel  different,  I  couldn't  do  anything  different.  I  should  know  all 
this  couldn't  be  forgotten.  I  should  know  that  it  would  poison 
my  life  in  the  end  —  yours  too.' 


282  THE   CONVERT 

'  She  has  made  good  use  of  her  time  ! '  he  said  bitterly.  Then, 
upon  a  sudden  thought,  '  What  has  changed  her  ?  Has  she  been 
seeing  visions  too  ? ' 

'What  do  you  mean?' 

'Why  is  she  intriguing  to  get  hold  of  a  man  that  ten  years  ago 
she  flatly  refused  to  see  or  hold  any  communication  with  ? ' 

'Intriguing  to  get  hold  of?     She  hasn't  mentioned  you !' 

'  What !  Then  how,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  do  you  know  - 
she  wants  —  what  you  ask  ? ' 

'There  can't  be  any  doubt  about  that,'  said  the  girl,  firmly. 

With  all  his  tenderness  for  her,  so  little  still  did  he  understand 
what  she  was  going  through,  that  he  plainly  thought  all  her  pain 
had  come  of  knowing  that  this  other  page  was  in  his  life  —  he  had 
no  glimpse  of  the  girl's  passionate  need  to  think  of  that  same  long- 
turned-over  page  as  unmarred  by  the  darker  blot. 

'You  absurd,  ridiculous  child!'  With  immense  relief  he 
dropped  into  the  nearest  chair.  'Then  all  this  is  just  your  own 
unaided  invention.  Well,  I  could  thank  God!'  He  passed  his 
handkerchief  over  his  face. 

'  For  what  are  you  thanking  God  ? ' 

He  sat  there  obviously  thinking  out  his  plan  of  action. 

'Suppose  —  I'm  not  going  to  risk  it  —  but  suppose '     He 

looked  up,  and  at  the  sight  of  Jean's  face  he  rose  with  an  expres 
sion  strangely  gentle.  The  rather  hard  eyes  were  softened  in  a 
sudden  mist.  'Whether  /  deserve  to  suffer  or  not,  it's  quite  cer 
tain  you  don't.  Don't  cry,  dear  one.  It  never  was  the  real  thing. 
I  had  to  wait  till  I  knew  you  before  I  understood.' 

Her  own  eyes  were  brimming  as  she  lifted  them  in  a  passion  of 
gratitude  to  his  face. 

'  Oh !  is  that  true  ?  Loving  you  has  made  things  clear  to  me 
I  didn't  dream  of  before.  If  I  could  think  that  because  of  me 
you  were  able  to  do  this ' 

'You  go  back  to  that?'  He  seized  her  by  the  shoulders,  and 
said  hoarsely, '  Look  here  !  Do  you  seriously  ask  me  to  give  up  the 
girl  I  love  —  to  go  and  offer  to  marry  a  woman  that  even  to  think 
of ' 

'You  cared  for  her  once!'  she  cried.  'You'll  care  about  her 
again.  She  is  beautiful  and  brilliant  —  everything.  I've  heard 
she  could  win  any  man ' 


THE   CONVERT  283 

He  pushed  the  girl  from  him.  '  She's  bewitched  you ! '  He  was 
halfway  to  the  door. 

'Geoffrey,  Geoffrey,  you  aren't  going  away  like  that?  This 
isn't  the  end  ? ' 

The  face  he  turned  back  upon  her  was  dark  and  hesitating. 
'I  suppose  if  she  refused  me,  you'd ' 

'She  won't  refuse  you.' 

'She  did  once.' 

'She  didn't  refuse  to  marry  you/ 

As  she  passed  him  on  the  way  to  her  sitting-room  he  caught  her 
by  the  arm. 

'  Stop ! '  he  said,  glancing  about  like  one  hunting  desperately 
for  a  means  of  gaining  a  few  minutes.  '  Lady  John  is  waiting  all 
this  time  at  my  house  for  the  car  to  go  back  with  a  message.' 

'  That's  not  a  matter  of  life  and  death ! '  she  said,  with  all  the 
impatience  of  the  young  at  that  tyranny  of  little  things  which  seems 
to  hold  its  unrelenting  sway,  though  the  battlements  of  righteous 
ness  are  rocking,  and  the  tall  towers  of  love  are  shaken  to  the 
nethermost  foundation-stones. 

'No,  it's  not  a  matter  of  life  and  death,'  Stonor  said  quietly. 
'All  the  same,  I'll  go  down  and  give  the  order.' 

'Very  well.'  Of  her  own  accord  this  time  she  stopped  on  her 
way  to  that  other  door,  behind  which  was  the  Past  and  the  Future 
incarnate  in  one  woman.  'I'll  wait,'  said  Jean.  She  went  to 
the  table.  Sitting  there  with  her  face  turned  from  him,  she  said, 
quite  low,  'You'll  come  back,  if  you're  the  man  I  pray  you  are.' 

Her  self-control  seemed  all  at  once  to  fail.  She  leaned  her 
elbows  on  the  table  and  broke  into  a  flood  of  silent  tears,  with  face 
hidden  in  her  hands. 

He  came  swiftly  back,  and  bent  over  her  a  moved,  adoring  face. 

'  Dearest  of  all  the  world,'  he  began,  in  that  beautiful  voice  of  his. 

His  arms  were  closing  round  her,  when  the  door  on  the  left  was 
softly  opened.  Vida  Levering  stood  on  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

SHE  drew  back  as  soon  as  she  saw  him,  but  Stonor  had  looked 
round.  His  face  darkened  as  he  stood  there  an  instant,  silently 
challenging  her.  Not  a  word  spoken  by  either  of  them,  no  sound 
but  the  faint,  muffled  sobbing  of  the  girl,  who  sat  with  hidden  face. 
With  a  look  of  speechless  anger,  the  man  went  out  and  shut  the 
doors  behind  him.  Not  seeing,  only  hearing  that  he  had  gone, 
Jean  threw  her  arms  out  across  the  table  in  an  abandonment  of 
grief.  The  other  woman  laid  on  a  chair  the  hat  and  cloak  that  she 
was  carrying.  Then  she  went  slowly  across  the  room  and  stood 
silent  a  moment  at  Jean's  side. 

'What  is  the  matter?' 

The  girl  started.  Impossible  for  her  to  speak  in  that  first  mo 
ment.  But  when  she  had  dried  her  eyes,  she  said,  with  a  pathetic 
childish  air  — 

'I  —  I've  been  seeing  Geoffrey.' 

'Is  this  the  effect  " seeing  Geoffrey"  has?'  said  the  other,  with 
an  attempt  at  lightness. 

'You  see,  I  know  now/  Jean  explained,  with  the  brave  direct 
ness  that  was  characteristic. 

The  more  sophisticated  woman  presented  an  aspect  totally  un 
enlightened. 

'  I  know  how  he  '  —  Jean  dropped  her  eyes  —  '  how  he  spoiled 
some  one  else's  life.' 

'  Who  tells  you  that  ? '  asked  Miss  Levering. 

'Several  people  have  told  me.' 

'Well,  you  should  be  very  careful  how  you  believe  what  you 
hear.' 

'You  know  it's  true!'  said  the  girl,  passionately. 

'I  know  that  it's  possible  to  be  mistaken.' 

'I  see  !     You're  trying  to  shield  him ' 

'Why  should  I?    What  is  it  to  me?' 

'  Oh — h,  how  you  must  love  him  ! '  she  said  with  tears. 

284 


THE   CONVERT  285 

'I ?  Listen  to  me,'  said  Vida,  gravely.  As  she  drew  up  a  chair 
the  girl  rose  to  her  feet. 

'What's  the  use  —  what's  the  use  of  your  going  on  denying  it?' 
As  she  saw  Vida  was  about  to  break  in,  she  silenced  her  with  two 
words,  'Geoffrey  doesn't.'  And  with  that  she  fled  away  to  the 
window. 

Vida  half  rose,  and  then  relinquished  the  idea  of  following  the 
girl,  seemed  presently  to  forget  her,  and  sat  as  one  alone  with  sor 
row.  When  Jean  had  mastered  herself,  she  came  slowly  back. 
Not  till  she  was  close  to  the  motionless  figure  did  the  girl  lift  her 
eyes. 

'Oh,  don't  look  like  that,'  the  girl  prayed.  'I  shall  bring  him 
back  to  you.' 

She  was  on  her  knees  by  Vida's  chair.  The  fixed  abstraction 
went  out  of  the  older  face,  but  it  was  very  cold  as  she  began  — 

'You  would  be  impertinent  —  if  —  you  weren't  a  romantic 
child.  You  can't  bring  him  back.' 

'Yes,  yes,  he ' 

'No.  But'  — Vida  looked  deep  into  the  candid  eyes  —  'there 
is  something  you  can  do ' 

'What?' 

'Bring  him  to  a  point  where  he  recognizes  that  he  is  in  our  debt.' 

'In  our  debt?' 

Vida  nodded.  'In  debt  to  Women.  He  can't  repay  the  one  he 
robbed.' 

Jean  winced  at  that.  The  young  do  not  know  that  nothing  but 
money  can  ever  be  paid  back. 

'Yes,'  she  insisted,  out  of  the  faith  she  still  had  in  him,  ready  to 
be  his  surety.  'Yes,  he  can.  He  will.' 

The  other  shook  her  head.  'No,  he  can't  repay  the  dead.  But 
there  are  the  living.  There  are  the  thousands  with  hope  still  in 
their  hearts  and  youth  in  their  blood.  Let  him  help  them.  Let 
him  be  a  Friend  to  Women.' 

' I  understand !'     Jean  rose  up,  wide-eyed.     'Yes,  that  too.' 

The  door  had  opened,  and  Lady  John  was  coming  in  with  Stonor 
towering  beside  her.  When  he  saw  the  girl  rising  from  her  knees, 
he  turned  to  Lady  John  with  a  little  gesture  of,  'What  did  I  tell 
you?' 

The  moment  Jean  caught  sight  of  him,  '  Thank  you ! '  she  said, 


286  THE   CONVERT 

while  her  aunt  was  briskly  advancing,  filling  all  the  room  with  a 
pleasant  silken  rustling,  and  a  something  nameless,  that  was  like 
clear  noonday  after  storm-cloud  or  haunted  twilight. 

'Well/  she  said  in  a  cheerful  commonplace  tone  to  Jean;  'you 
rather  gave  us  the  slip !  Vida,  I  believe  Mr.  Stonor  wants  to  see 
you  for  a  few  minutes,  but'  —  she  glanced  at  her  watch —  'I'd 
like  a  word  with  you  first,  as  I  must  get  back.  Do  you  think  the 
car '  —  she  turned  to  Stonor  —  '  your  man  said  something  about 
recharging  — 

'Oh,  did  he?  I'll  see  about  it.'  As  he  went  out  he  brushed 
past  the  butler. 

'Mr.  Trent  has  called,  miss,  to  take  the  lady  to  the  meeting,' 
said  that  functionary. 

'Bring  Mr.  Trent  into  my  sitting-room,'  said  Jean  hastily, 
and  then  to  Miss  Levering,  'I'll  tell  him  you  can't  go  to-night.' 

Lady  John  stood  watching  the  girl  with  critical  eyes  till  she 
had  disappeared  into  the  adjoining  room  and  shut  the  door  behind 
her.  Then  - 

'  I  know,  my  dear '  —  she  spoke  almost  apologetically  —  '  you're 
not  aware  of  what  that  impulsive  child  wants  to  insist  on.  I  feel 
it  an  embarrassment  even  to  tell  you.' 

'I  know.' 

'You  know?'  Lady  John  waited  for  condemnation  of  Jean's 
idea.  She  waited  in  vain.  'It  isn't  with  your  sanction,  surely, 
that  she  makes  this  extraordinary  demand?' 

'I  didn't  sanction  it  at  first,'  said  the  other  slowly;  'but  I've 
been  thinking  it  over.' 

Lady  John's  suavity  stiffened  perceptibly.  'Then  all  I  can  say 
is,  I  am  greatly  disappointed  in  you.  You  threw  this  man  over 
years  ago,  for  reasons,  whatever  they  were,  that  seemed  to  you 
good  and  sufficient.  And  now  you  come  in  between  him  and  a 
younger  woman,  just  to  play  Nemesis,  so  far  as  I  can  make  out.' 

'  Is  that  what  he  says  ? ' 

'He  says  nothing  that  isn't  fair  and  considerate.' 

'I  can  see  he's  changed.' 

'And  you're  unchanged  —  is  that  it?' 

'I'm  changed  even  more  than  he.' 

Lady  John  sat  down,  with  pity  and  annoyance  struggling  for  the 
mastery. 


THE   CONVERT  287 

*  You  care  about  him  still  ? J 
'No.' 

'  No  ?  And  yet  you  —  I  see  !  There  are  obviously  certain  things 
he  can  give  his  wife,  and  you  naturally  want  to  marry  somebody.' 

' Oh,  Lady  John/  said  Vida,  wearily,  'there  are  no  men  listen 
ing.' 

'  No '  —  she  looked  round  surprised  —  1 1  didn't  suppose  there 
were.' 

'  Then  why  keep  up  that  old  pretence  ? ' 

'Whatpret- 

'That  to  marry  at  all  costs  is  every  woman's  dearest  ambition 
till  the  grave  closes  over  her.  You  and  I  know  it  isn't  true.' 

'Well,  but '  Her  ladyship  blinked,  suddenly  seeing  day 
light.  '  Oh  !  It  was  just  the  unexpected  sight  of  him  bringing  it 
all  back!  That  was  what  fired  you  this  afternoon.  Of  course' 
—  she  made  an  honest  attempt  at  sympathetic  understanding  — 
1  the  memory  of  a  thing  like  that  can  never  die  —  can  never  even  be 
dimmed  for  the  woman.' 

'I  mean  her  to  think  so.' 

'Jean?' 

Vida  nodded. 

'But  it  isn't  so?' 

Lady  John  was  a  little  bewildered. 

'You  don't  seriously  believe,'  said  Vida,  'that  a  woman,  with 
anything  else  to  think  about,  comes  to  the  end  of  ten  years  still 
absorbed  in  a  memory  of  that  sort  ? ' 

Lady  John  stared  speechless  a  moment.  'You've  got  over  it, 
then?' 

'If  it  weren't  for  the  papers,  I  shouldn't  remember  twice  a 
year  there  was  ever  such  a  person  as  Geoffrey  Stonor  in  the 
world.' 

'  Oh,  I'm  so  glad ! '  said  Lady  John,  with  unconscious  rapture. 

Vida  smiled  grimly.     'Yes,  I'm  glad,  too.' 

'And  if  Geoffrey  Stonor  offered  you  —  er  —  "reparation," 
you'd  refuse  it?' 

'  Geoffrey  Stonor !  For  me  he's  simply  one  of  the  far  back  links 
in  a  chain  of  evidence.  It's  certain  I  think  a  hundred  times  of 
other  women's  present  unhappiness  to  once  that  I  remember  that 
old  unhappiness  of  mine  that's  past.  I  think  of  the  nail  and  chain 


288  THE   CONVERT 

makers  of  Cradley  Heath,  the  sweated  girls  of  the  slums;  I  think/ 
her  voice  fell,  *  of  the  army  of  ill-used  women,  whose  very  existence 
I  mustn't  mention ' 

Lady  John  interrupted  her  hurriedly.  'Then  why  in  heaven's 
name  do  you  let  poor  Jean  imagine ' 

Vida  suddenly  bent  forward.  'Look  —  I'll  trust  you,  Lady 
John.  I  don't  suffer  from  that  old  wrong  as  Jean  thinks  I  do, 
but  I  shall  coin  her  sympathy  into  gold  for  a  greater  cause  than 
mine.' 

'I  don't  understand  you.' 

'  Jean  isn't  old  enough  to  be  able  to  care  as  much  about  a  prin 
ciple  as  about  a  person.  But  if  my  old  half-forgotten  pain  can 
turn  her  generosity  into  the  common  treasury ' 

'What  do  you  propose  she  shall  do,  poor  child?' 

'Use  her  hold  over  Geoffrey  Stonor  to  make  him  help  us.' 

'To  help  you?' 

'  The  man  who  served  one  woman  —  God  knows  how  many 
more  —  very  ill,  shall  serve  hundreds  of  thousands  well.  Geoffrey 
Stonor  shall  make  it  harder  for  his  son,  harder  still  for  his  grandson, 
to  treat  any  woman  as  he  treated  me.' 

'  How  will  he  do  that  ? '  said  the  lady  coldly. 

'By  putting  an  end  to  the  helplessness  of  women.' 

'You  must  think  he  has  a  great  deal  of  power,'  said  her  ladyship, 
with  some  irony. 

'Power?  Yes,'  answered  the  other,  'men  have  too  much  over 
penniless  and  frightened  women.' 

'What  nonsense !  You  talk  as  though  the  women  hadn't  their 
share  of  human  nature.  We  aren't  made  of  ice  any  more  than  the 
men.' 

'No,  but  we  have  more  self-control.' 

'Than  men?' 

Vida  had  risen.  She  looked  down  at  her  friend.  'You  know 
we  have,'  she  said. 

'I  know,'  said  Lady  John  shrewdly,  'we  mustn't  admit  it.' 

'For  fear  they'd  call  us  fishes?' 

Lady  John  had  been  frankly  shocked  at  the  previous  plain 
speaking,  but  she  found  herself  stimulated  to  show  in  this  moment 
of  privacy  that  even  she  had  not  travelled  her  sheltered  way  through 
the  world  altogether  in  blinkers. 


THE  CONVERT  289 

'They  talk  of  our  lack  of  self-control,  but,'  she  admitted,  'it's 
the  last  thing  men  want  women  to  have.' 

'  Oh,  we  know  what  they  want  us  to  have !  So  we  make  shift 
to  have  it.  If  we  don't,  we  go  without  hope  —  sometimes  we  go 
without  bread.' 

1  Vida  !     Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you ' 

'I  mean  to  say  that  men's  vanity  won't  let  them  see  it,  but  the 
thing's  largely  a  question  of  economics.' 

'  You  never  loved  him,  then ! ' 

'  Yes,  I  loved  him  —  once.  It  was  my  helplessness  that  turned 
the  best  thing  life  can  bring  into  a  curse  for  both  of  us.' 

'I  don't  understand  you ' 

'Oh,  being  " understood "!  that's  too  much  to  expect.  I 
make  myself  no  illusions.  When  people  come  to  know  that  I've 
joined  the  Women's  Union ' 

'But  you  won't.' 

' who  is  there  who  will  resist  the  temptation  to  say  "Poor 

Vida  Levering !  What  a  pity  she  hasn't  got  a  husband  and  a  baby 
to  keep  her  quiet  "  ?  The  few  who  know  about  me,  they'll  be 
equally  sure  that,  not  the  larger  view  of  life  I've  gained,  but  my 
own  poor  little  story,  is  responsible  for  my  new  departure.'  She 
leaned  forward  and  looked  into  Lady  John's  face.  'My  best 
friend,  she  will  be  surest  of  all,  that  it's  a  private  sense  of  loss,  or 
lower  yet,  a  grudge,  that's  responsible  for  my  attitude.  I  tell 
you  the  only  difference  between  me  and  thousands  of  women  with 
husbands  and  babies  is  that  I  am  free  to  say  what  I  think.  They 
aren't!' 

Lady  John  opened  her  lips  and  then  closed  them  firmly.  After 
all,  why  pursue  the  matter  ?  She  had  got  the  information  she  had 
come  for. 

'I  must  hurry  back;'  she  rose,  murmuring,  'my  poor  ill-used 
guests  — • — ' 

Vida  stood  there  quiet,  a  little  cold.  'I  won't  ring,'  she  said. 
'I  think  you'll  find  Mr.  Stonor  downstairs  waiting  for  you.' 

'Oh  —  a  —  he  will  have  left  word  about  the  car  in  any  case.' 

Lady  John's  embarrassment  was  not  so  much  at  seeing  that  her 
friend  had  divined  the  gist  of  the  arrangement  that  had  been  ef 
fected  downstairs.  It  was  that  Vida  should  be  at  no  pains  to  throw 
a  decent  veil  over  the  fact  of  her  realization  that  Lady  John  had 
u 


290  THE  CONVERT 

come  there  in  the  character  of  scout.  With  an  openness  not  wholly 
free  from  scorn,  the  younger  woman  had  laid  her  own  cards  on  the 
table.  She  made  no  scruple  at  turning  her  back  on  Lady  John's 
somewhat  incoherent  evasion.  Ignoring  it  she  crossed  the  room 
and  opened  the  door  for  her. 

Jean  was  in  the  corridor  saying  good-bye  to  the  chairman  of  the 
afternoon. 

'Well,  Mr.  Trent/  said  Miss  Levering  in  even  tones,  'I  didn't 
expect  to  see  you  this  evening.' 

He  came  forward  and  stood  in  the  doorway.  '  Why  not  ?  Have 
I  ever  failed  ?» 

'Lady  John,'  said  Vida,  turning,  'this  is  one  of  our  allies.  He 
is  good  enough  to  squire  me  through  the  rabble  from  time  to 
time.' 

'Well,'  said  Lady  John,  advancing  quite  graciously,  'I  think  it's 
very  handsome  of  you  after  what  she  said  to-day  about  men.' 

'I've  no  great  opinion  of  most  men  myself,'  said  the  young  gen 
tleman.  'I  might  add,  or  of  most  women.' 

'Oh!'  Lady  John  laughed.  'At  any  rate  I  shall  go  away  re 
lieved  to  think  that  Miss  Levering's  plain  speaking  hasn't  alienated 
all  masculine  regard.' 

'  Why  should  it  ? '  he  said. 

'That's  right.'  Lady  John  metaphorically  patted  him  on  the 
back.  '  Don't  believe  all  she  says  in  the  heat  of  propaganda.' 

'I  do  believe  all  she  says.     But  I'm  not  cast  down.' 

'  Not  when  she  says ' 

'Was  there  never,'  he  made  bold  to  interrupt,  'a  misogynist  of 
my  sex  who  ended  by  deciding  to  make  an  exception  ?  ' 

'Oh!'  Lady  John  smiled  significantly;  'if  that's  what  you 
build  on ! ' 

'Why,'  he  demanded  with  an  effort  to  convey  'pure  logic,' 
'why  shouldn't  a  man-hater  on  your  side  prove  equally  open  to 
reason  ? ' 

'That  aspect  of  the  question  has  become  irrelevant  so  far  as 
I'm  personally  concerned,'  said  Vida,  exasperated  by  Lady  John's 
look  of  pleased  significance.  'I've  got  to  a  place  where  I  realize 
that  the  first  battles  of  this  new  campaign  must  be  fought  by  women 
alone.  The  only  effective  help  men  could  give  —  amendment  of 
the  law  —  they  refuse.  The  rest  is  nothing.' 


THE   CONVERT  291 

'  Don't  be  ungrateful,  Vida.  Here  is  this  gentleman  ready  to  face 
criticism  in  publicly  championing  you 

'Yes,  but  it's  an  illusion  that  I,  as  an  individual,  need  a  cham 
pion.  I  am  quite  safe  in  the  crowd.  Please  don't  wait  for  me  and 
don't  come  for  me  again.' 

The  sensitive  dark  face  flushed.    '  Of  course  if  you'd  rather  — 

'And  that  reminds  me,'  she  went  on,  unfairly  punishing  poor  Mr. 
Trent  for  Lady  John's  meaning  looks,  '  I  was  asked  to  thank  you, 
and  to  tell  you,  too,  that  they  won't  need  your  chairmanship  any 
more  —  though  that,  I  beg  you  to  believe,  has  nothing  to  do  with 
any  feeling  of  mine.' 

He  was  hurt  and  he  showed  it.  '  Of  course  I  know  there  must 
be  other  men  ready  —  better  known  men • ' 

'It  isn't  that.  It's  simply  that  we  find  a  man  can't  keep  a  rowdy 
meeting  in  order  as  well  as  a  woman.' 

He  stared. 

'  You  aren't  serious  ? '  said  Lady  John. 

'Haven't  you  noticed,'  Miss  Levering  put  it  to  Trent,  'that  all 
our  worst  disturbances  come  when  men  are  in  charge  ? ' 

'Ha  !  ha  !    Well  —  a  —  I  hadn't  connected  the  two  ideas.' 

Still  laughing  a  little  ruefully,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  taken 
downstairs  by  kind  little  Miss  Dunbarton,  who  had  stood  without 
a  word  waiting  there  with  absent  face. 

'That  nice  boy's  in  love  with  you,'  said  Lady  John,  soito  voce. 

Vida  looked  at  her  without  answering. 

'Good-bye.'  They  shook  hands.  'I  wish  you  hadn't  been  so 
unkind  to  that  nice  boy.' 

'Do  you?' 

'Yes;  for  then  I  would  be  more  sure  of  your  telling  Geoffrey 
Stonor  that  intelligent  women  don't  nurse  their  wrongs  indefinitely, 
and  lie  in  wait  to  punish  them.' 

'  You  are  not  sure  ? ' 

Lady  John  went  up  close  and  looked  into  her  face  with  search 
ing  anxiety.  'Are  you?'  she  asked. 

Vida  stood  there  mute,  with  eyes  on  the  ground.  Lady  John 
glanced  nervously  at  her  watch,  and,  with  a  gesture  of  perturba 
tion,  hurriedly  left  the  room.  The  other  went  slowly  back  to  her 
place  by  the  table. 

******* 


292  THE   CONVERT 

The  look  she  bent  on  Stonor  as  he  came  in  seemed  to  take 
no  acccount  of  those  hurried  glimpses  at  the  Tunbridges'  months 
before,  and  twice  to-day  when  other  eyes  were  watching.  It  was 
as  if  now,  for  the  first  time  since  they  parted,  he  stood  forth  clearly. 
This  man  with  the  changed  face,  coming  in  at  the  door  and  care 
fully  shutting  it  —  he  had  once  been  Mystery's  high  priest  and  had 
held  the  keys  of  Joy.  To-day,  beyond  a  faint  pallor,  there  was 
no  trace  of  emotion  in  that  face  that  was  the  same  and  yet  so  differ 
ent.  Not  even  anger  there.  Where  a  less  complex  man  would 
have  brought  in,  if  not  the  menace  of  a  storm,  at  least  an  intima 
tion  of  masterfulness  that  should  advertise  the  uselessness  of 
opposition,  Stonor  brought  a  subtler  ally  in  what,  for  lack  of  better 
words,  must  be  called  an  air  of  heightened  fastidiousness  —  mainly 
physical.  Man  has  no  shrewder  weapon  against  the  woman  he  has 
loved  and  wishes  to  exorcise  from  his  path.  For  the  simple, 
and  even  for  those  not  so  much  simple  as  merely  sensitive,  there  is 
something  in  that  cool,  sure  assumption  of  unapproachableness 
on  the  part  of  one  who  once  had  been  so  near  —  something  that 
lames  advance  and  hypnotizes  vision.  Geoffrey  Stonor's  aloofness 
was  not  in  the  *  high  look '  alone ;  it  was  as  much  as  anything  in  the 
very  way  he  walked,  as  if  the  ground  were  hardly  good  enough, 
in  the  way  he  laid  his  shapely  hand  on  the  carved  back  of  the  sofa, 
the  way  his  eyes  rested  on  inanimate  things  in  the  room,  reducing 
whoever  was  responsible  for  them  to  the  need  of  justifying  their 
presence  and  defending  their  value. 

As  the  woman  in  the  chair,  leaning  cheek  on  hand,  sat  silently 
watching  him,  it  may  have  been  that  obscure  things  in  those  head 
long  hours  of  the  past  grew  plainer. 

However  ludicrous  the  result  may  look  in  the  last  analysis,  it  is 
clear  that  a  faculty  such  as  Stonor's  for  overrating  the  value  of  the 
individual  in  the  scheme  of  things,  does  seem  more  effectually 
than  any  mere  patent  of  nobility  to  confer  upon  a  man  the  '  divine 
right '  to  dictate  to  his  fellows  and  to  look  down  upon  them.  The 
thing  is  founded  on  illusion,  but  it  is  founded  as  firm  as  many  an 
other  figment  that  has  governed  men  and  seen  the  generations  come 
to  heel  and  go  crouching  to  their  graves. 

But  the  shining  superiority  of  the  man  seemed  to  be  a  little 
dimmed  for  the  woman  sitting  there.  The  old  face  and  the  new 
face,  she  saw  them  both  through  a  cloud  of  long-past  memories 
and  a  mist  of  present  tears. 


THE   CONVERT  293 

1  Well,  have  they  primed  you?'  she  said  very  low.  'Have  you 
got  your  lesson  —  by  heart  at  last  ? ' 

He  looked  at  her  from  immeasurable  distance.  'I  am  not  sure 
that  I  understand  you,'  he  said.  He  waited  an  instant,  then,  seeing 
no  explanation  vouchsafed,  '  However  unpropitious  your  mood 
may  be,'  he  went  on  with  a  satirical  edge  in  his  tone,  'I  shall  dis 
charge  my  errand.' 

Still  she  waited. 

Her  silence  seemed  to  irritate  him.  'I  have  promised,'  he 
said,  with  a  formality  that  smacked  of  insolence,  '  to  offer  you  what 
I  believe  is  called  " amends."' 

The  quick  change  in  the  brooding  look  should  have  warned 
him. 

'  You  have  come  to  realize,  then  —  after  all  these  years  —  that 
you  owed  me  something  ? ' 

He  checked  himself  on  the  brink  of  protest.  'I  am  not  here  to 
deny  it.' 

'Pay,  then,'  she  said  fiercely  —  'pay.' 

A  moment's  dread  flickered  in  his  eye  and  then  was  gone.  'I 
have  said  that,  if  you  exact  it,  I  will.' 

'Ah!  If  I  insist,  you'll  "make  it  all  good"!  Then,  don't 
you  know,  you  must  pay  me  in  kind?' 

He  looked  down  upon  her  —  a  long,  long  way.  '  What  do  you 
mean  ? ' 

'  Give  me  back  what  you  took  from  me  —  my  old  faith,'  she  said, 
with  shaking  voice.  '  Give  me  that.' 

'Oh,  if  you  mean  to  make  phrases '  He  half  turned 

away,  but  the  swift  words  overtook  him. 

'Or,  give  me  back  mere  kindness  —  or  even  tolerance!  Oh, 
I  don't  mean  your  tolerance.'  She  was  on  her  feet  to  meet  his 
eyes  as  he  faced  her  again.  'Give  me  back  the  power  to  think 
fairly  of  my  brothers  —  not  as  mockers  —  thieves.' 

'I  have  not  mocked  you.     And  I  have  asked  you ' 

'Something  you  knew  I  should  refuse.  Or'  —  her  eyes  blazed 
—  'or  did  you  dare  to  be  afraid  I  wouldn't?' 

'  Oh,  I  suppose '  —  he  buttressed  his  good  faith  with  bitterness 
— '  I  suppose  if  we  set  our  teeth  we  could ' 

'I  couldn't  —  not  even  if  I  set  my  teeth.  And  you  wouldn't 
dream  of  asking  me  if  you  thought  there  was  the  smallest  chance.' 


294  THE   CONVERT 

Ever  so  faintly  he  raised  his  heavy  shoulders.  'I  can  do  no 
more  than  make  you  an  offer  of  such  reparation  as  is  in  my  power. 

If  you  don't  accept  it '  He  turned  away  with  an  air  of  '  that's 

done.' 

But  her  emotion  had  swept  her  out  of  her  course.  She  found 
herself  at  his  side. 

'  Accept  it  ?  No !  Go  away  and  live  in  debt.  Pay  and  pay  and 
pay  —  and  find  yourself  still  in  debt  —  for  a  thing  you'll  never 
be  able  to  give  me  back.  And  when  you  come  to  die '  —  her  voice 
fell  —  'say  to  yourself,  "I  paid  all  my  creditors  but  one."  ' 

He  stopped  on  his  way  to  the  door  and  faced  her  again.  'I'm 
rather  tired,  you  know,  of  this  talk  of  debt.  If  I  hear  that  you 
persist  in  it,  I  shall  have  to '  Again  he  checked  himself. 

'What?' 

'No.     I'll  keep  to  my  resolution.' 

He  had  nearly  reached  the  threshold.  She  saw  what  she  had 
lost  by  her  momentary  lack  of  that  boasted  self-control.  She 
forestalled  him  at  the  door. 

'  What  resolution  ?'   she  asked. 

He  looked  down  at  her  an  instant,  clothed  from  head  to  foot  in 
that  indefinable  armour  of  unapproachableness.  This  was  a  man 
who  asked  other  people  questions,  himself  ill-accustomed  to  be 
catechised.  If  he  replied  it  was  a  grace, 

'I  came  here,'  he  said,  'under  considerable  pressure,  to  speak 
of  the  future.  Not  to  reopen  the  past.3 

'The  future  and  the  past  are  one,'  said  the  woman  at  the  door, 

'You  talk  as  if  that  old  madness  was  mine  alone;  it  is  the 
woman's  way.' 

(I  know,'  she  agreed,  to  his  obvious  surprise,  'and  it's  not  fair. 
Men  suffer  as  well  as  we  by  the  woman's  starting  wrong.  We  are 
taught  to  think  the  man  a  sort,  of  demi-god.  If  he  tells  her,  "  Go 
down  into  hell,"  down  into  hell  she  goes.' 

He  would  not  have  been  human  had  he  not  resented  that  harsh 
summary  of  those  days  that  lay  behind. 

'Make  no  mistake,'  he  said.  'Not  the  woman  alone.  They 
go  down  together.* 

'Yes,  they  go  down  together.  But  the  man  comes  up  alone. 
As  a  rule.  It  is  more  convenient  so  — for  him.  And  even  for 
the  other  woman.' 


THE   CONVERT  295 

Both  pairs  of  eyes  went  to  Jean's  door. 

'  My  conscience  is  clear,'  he  said  angrily.  'I  know  —  and  so  do 
you  —  that  most  men  in  my  position  wouldn't  have  troubled  them 
selves.  I  gave  myself  endless  trouble.' 

She  looked  at  him  with  wondering  eyes.  '  So  you've  gone  about 
all  these  years  feeling  that  you'd  discharged  every  obligation  ? ' 

'  Not  only  that.  I  stood  by  you  with  a  fidelity  that  was  nothing 
short  of  Quixotic.  If,  woman-like,  you  must  recall  the  past,  I 
insist  on  your  recalling  it  correctly.' 

'  You  think  I  don't  recall  it  correctly  ? '  she  said  very  low. 

'  Not  when  you  make  —  other  people  believe  that  I  deserted 
you!'  The  gathering  volume  of  his  righteous  wrath  swept  the 
cool  precision  out  of  his  voice.  'It's  a  curious  enough  charge,' 
he  said,  'when  you  stop  to  consider '  Again  he  checked  him 
self,  and,  with  a  gesture  of  impatience,  was  for  sweeping  the  whole 
thing  out  of  his  way,  including  that  figure  at  the  door. 

But  she  stood  there.  'Well,  when  we  do  just  for  five  minutes 
out  of  ten  years  —  when  we  do  stop  to  consider  — 

'We  remember  it  was  you  who  did  the  deserting.  And  since 
you  had  to  rake  the  story  up,  you  might  have  had  the  fairness  to 
tell  the  facts.' 

'You  think  "the  facts"  would  have  excused  you?' 

It  was  a  new  view.  She  left  the  door,  and  sat  down  in  the  near 
est  chair. 

'No  doubt  you've  forgotten  the  facts,  since  Lady  John  tells  me 
you  wouldn't  remember  my  existence  once  a  year,  if  the  papers 
didn't  - 

'Ah!'  she  interrupted,  with  a  sorry  little  smile,  'you  minded 
that  I' 

'I  mind  your  giving  false  impressions,'  he  said  with  spirit.     As 

she  was  about  to  speak  he  advanced  upon  her.     'Do  you  deny' 

-  he  bent  over  her,  and  told  off  those  three  words  by  striking  one 

clenched  fist  into  the  palm  of  the  other  hand  —  '  do  you  deny  that 

you  returned  my  letters  unopened  ? ' 

'No,'  she  said. 

'  Do  you  deny  that  you  refused  to  see  me,  and  that  when  I  per 
sisted  you  vanished?' 

'I  don't  deny  any  of  those  things.' 

'  Why '  —  he  stood  up  straight  again,  and  his  shoulders  grew 


296  THE   CONVERT 

more  square  with  justification  —  '  why  I  had  no  trace  of  you  for 
years.' 

'I  suppose  not.' 

'Very  well,  then.'    He  walked  away.     'What  could  I  do?' 

'Nothing.     It  was  too  late  to  do  anything.' 

'It  wasn't  too  late!  You  knew,  since  you  "read  the  papers," 
that  my  father  died  that  same  year.  There  was  no  longer  any 
barrier  between  us.' 

'Oh,  yes,  there  was  a  barrier.' 

'Of  your  own  making,  then.' 

'  I  had  my  guilty  share  in  it,  but  the  barrier '  —  her  voice  trem 
bled  on  the  word  —  'the  barrier  was  your  invention.' 

'The  only  barrier  I  knew  of  was  no  "invention."  If  you  had 
ever  known  my  father ' 

'  Oh,  the  echoes !  the  echoes ! '  She  lay  back  in  the  chair. 
'How  often  you  used  to  say,  if  I  "knew  your  father."  But  you 
said,  too'  —  her  voice  sank —  'you  called  the  greatest  "barrier" 
by  another  name.' 

'What  name?' 

So  low  that  even  he  could  hardly  hear  she  answered,  'The  child 
that  was  to  come.' 

'That  was  before  my  father  died,'  Stonor  returned  hastily, 
'while  I  still  hoped  to  get  his  consent.' 

She  nodded,  and  her  eyes  were  set  like  wide  doors  for  memory 
to  enter  in. 

'How  the  thought  of  that  all-powerful  personage  used  to  ter 
rorize  me!  What  chance  had  a  little  unborn  child  against  "the 
last  of  the  great  feudal  lords,"  as  you  called  him?' 

'You  know  the  child  would  have  stood  between  you  and  me.' 

'I  know  the  child  did  stand  between  you  and  me.' 

He  stared  at  her.  With  vague  uneasiness  he  repeated,  ' Did 
stand ' 

She  seemed  not  to  hear.  The  tears  were  running  down  her  rigid 
face. 

'Happy  mothers  teach  their  children.  Mine  had  to  teach 
me ' 

'You  talk  as  if ' 

' teach  me  that  a  woman  may  do  that  for  love's  sake  that 

shall  kill  love.' 


THE   CONVERT  297 

Neither  spoke  for  some  seconds.  Fearing  and  putting  from 
him  fuller  comprehension,  he  broke  the  silence,  saying  with  an  air 
of  finality  — 

'You  certainly  made  it  plain  you  had  no  love  left  for  me.' 

'I  had  need  of  it  all  for  the  child.'  Her  voice  had  a  curious 
crooning  note  in  it. 

He  came  closer.  He  bent  down  to  put  the  low  question,  'Do 
you  mean,  then,  that  after  all  —  it  lived?' 

'No.  I  mean  that  it  was  sacrificed.  But  it  showed  me  no  bar 
rier  is  so  impassable  as  the  one  a  little  child  can  raise.' 

It  was  as  if  lightning  had  flashed  across  the  old  picture.  He 
drew  back  from  the  fierce  illumination. 

'Was  that  why  you  —  -'he  began,  in  a  voice  that  was  almost  a 
whisper.  'Was  that  why?' 

She  nodded,  speechless  a  moment  for  tears.  'Day  and  night 
there  it  was  between  my  thought  of  you  and  me.' 

He  sat  down,  staring  at  her. 

'When  I  was  most  unhappy,'  she  went  on,  in  that  low  voice,  'I 
would  wake  thinking  I  heard  it  cry.  It  was  my  own  crying  I 
heard,  but  I  seemed  to  have  it  in  my  arms.  I  suppose  I  was  mad. 
I  used  to  lie  there  in  that  lonely  farmhouse  pretending  to  hush  it. 
It  was  so  I  hushed  myself.' 

'  I  never  knew 

'I  didn't  blame  you.     You  couldn't  risk  being  with  me.' 

'  You  agreed  that,  for  both  our  sakes  — 

'  Yes,  you  had  to  be  very  circumspect.  You  were  so  well  known. 
Your  autocratic  father,  your  brilliant  political  future  — 

'Be  fair.     Our  future  —  as  I  saw  it  then.' 

'Yes,  everything  hung  on  concealment.  It  must  have  looked 
quite  simple  to  you.  You  didn't  know  the  ghost  of  a  child  that 
had  never  seen  the  light,  the  frail  thing  you  meant  to  sweep  aside 
and  forget '  —  she  was  on  her  feet  —  '  have  swept  aside  and  for 
gotten  !  —  you  didn't  know  it  was  strong  enough  to  push  you  out  of 
my  life.'  With  an  added  intensity,  'It  can  do  more!'  she  said. 
She  leaned  over  his  bowed  figure  and  whispered,  'It  can  push  that 
girl  out !'  As  again  she  stood  erect,  half  to  herself  she  added,  'It 
can  do  more  still. ' 

'  Are  you  threatening  me  ? '  he  said  dully. 
'No,  I  am  preparing  you.' 


298  THE   CONVERT 

'For  what?' 

'  For  the  work  that  must  be  done.  Either  with  your  help  or  that 
girl's.' 

The  man's  eyes  lifted  a  moment. 

'One  of  two  things,'  she  said  —  'either  her  life,  and  all  she  has, 
given  to  this  new  Service;  or  a  ransom  if  I  give  her  up  to  you.' 

'I  see.     A  price.     Well ?' 

She  looked  searchingly  at  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  slowly 
shook  her  head. 

'Even  if  I  could  trust  you  to  pay  the  price,'  she  said,  'I'm  not 
sure  but  what  a  young  and  ardent  soul  as  faithful  and  as  pure  as 
hers  —  I'm  not  sure  but  I  should  make  a  poor  bargain  for  my  sex 
to  give  that  up  for  anything  you  could  do.' 

He  found  his  feet  like  a  man  roused  out  of  an  evil  dream  to  some 
reality  darker  than  the  dream.  'In  spite  of  your  assumption,  she 
may  not  be  your  tool,'  he  said. 

'You  are  horribly  afraid  she  is  !  But  you  are  wrong.  She's  an 
instrument  in  stronger  hands  than  mine.  Soon  my  little  personal 
influence  over  her  will  be  merged  in  something  infinitely  greater. 
Oh,  don't  think  it's  merely  I  that  have  got  hold  of  Jean  Dun- 
barton.' 

'Who  else?' 

'The  New  Spirit  that's  abroad.' 

With  an  exclamation  he  turned  away.  And  though  his  look 
branded  the  idea  for  a  wild  absurdity,  sentinel-like  he  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  a  few  yards  from  Jean's  door. 

'How  else,'  said  the  woman,  'should  that  inexperienced  girl 
have  felt  the  new  loyalty  and  responded  as  she  did?' 

'"New,"  indeed  1'  he  said  under  his  breath,  'however  little 
"loyal."' 

'Loyal,  above  all.  But  no  newer  than  electricity  was  when  it 
first  lit  up  the  world.  It  had  been  there  since  the  world  began  — 
waiting  to  do  away  with  the  dark.  So  has  the  thing  you're 
fighting: 

'The  thing  I'm  fighting'  —  and  the  violence  with  which  he  spoke 
was  only  in  his  face  and  air;  he  held  his  voice  down  to  its  lowest 
register — 'the  thing  I'm  fighting  is  nothing  more  than  one  per 
son's  hold  upon  a  highly  sensitive  imagination.  I  consented  to 
this  interview  with  the  hope '  —  he  made  a  gesture  of  impotence. 


THE   CONVERT  299 

'It  only  remains  for  me  to  show  her  that  your  true  motive  is  re 
venge.' 

'Once  say  that  to  her,  and  you  are  lost.' 

He  stole  an  uneasy  look  at  the  woman  out  of  a  face  that  had 
grown  haggard. 

'If  you  were  fighting  for  that  girl  only  against  me,  you'd 
win,'  she  said.  'It  isn't  so  —  and  you  will  fail.  The  influence 
that  has  hold  of  her  is  in  the  very  air.  No  soul  knows  where 
it  comes  from,  except  that  it  comes  from  the  higher  sources  of 
civilization.' 

'  I  see  the  origin  of  it  before  my  eyes ! ' 

'As  little  as  you  see  the  beginnings  of  life.  This  is  like  the  other 
mysterious  forces  of  Mother  Earth.  No  warning  given  —  no 
sign.  A  night  wind  passes  over  the  brown  land,  and  in  the  morn 
ing  the  fields  are  green.' 

His  look  was  the  look  of  one  who  sees  happiness  slipping 
away.  'Or  it  passes  over  gardens  like  a  frost,'  he  said,  'and  the 
flowers  die.' 

'I  know  that  is  what  men  fear.  It  even  seems  as  if  it  must  be 
through  fear  that  your  enlightenment  will  come.  The  strangest 
things  make  you  men  afraid !  That's  why  I  see  a  value  in  Jean 
Dunbarton  far  beyond  her  fortune.' 

He  looked  at  her  dully. 

'More  than  any  other  girl  I  know  —  if  I  keep  her  from  you,  that 
gentle,  inflexible  creature  could  rouse  in  men  the  old  half-super 
stitious  fear ' 

'  Fear  1    Are  you  mad  ? ' 

'  Mad ! '  she  echoed.  '  Unsexed '  —  those  are  the  words  to-day. 
In  the  Middle  Ages  men  cried  out  '  Witch ! '  and  burnt  her  —  the 
woman  who  served  no  man's  bed  or  board. 

'  You  want  to  make  the  poor  child  believe ' 

'She  sees  for  herself  we've  come  to  a  place  where  we  find  there's 
a  value  in  women  apart  from  the  value  men  see  in  them.  You  teach 
us  not  to  look  to  you  for  some  of  the  things  we  need  most.  If  wromen 

must  be  freed  by  women,  we  have  need  of  such  as '  Her  eyes 

went  to  the  door  that  Stonor  still  had  an  air  of  guarding.  'Who 
knows  —  she  may  be  the  new  Joan  of  Arc.' 

He  paused,  and  for  that  moment  he  semed  as  bankrupt  in  de 
nunciation  as  he  was  in  hope.  This  personal  application  of  the 


300  THE   CONVERT 

new  heresy  found  him  merely  aghast,  with  no  words  but  'That 
she  should  be  the  sacrifice  1 ' 

'You  have  taught  us  to  look  very  calmly  on  the  sacrifice  of 
women,'  was  the  ruthless  answer.  'Men  tell  us  in  every  tongue, 
it's  "a  necessary  evil.'" 

He  stood  still  a  moment,  staring  at  the  ground. 

'  One  girl's  happiness  —  against  a  thing  nobler  than  happiness 
for  thousands  —  who  can  hesitate?  Not  Jean.'' 

1  Good  God !  can't  you  see  that  this  crazed  campaign  you'd 
start  her  on  —  even  if  it's  successful,  it  can  only  be  so  through  the 
help  of  men?  What  excuse  shall  you  make  your  own  soul  for 
not  going  straight  to  the  goal?' 

'You  think  we  wouldn't  be  glad,'  she  said,  'to  go  straight  to  the 
goal?' 

'  I  do.  I  see  you'd  much  rather  punish  me  and  see  her  revel  in 
a  morbid  self-sacrifice.' 

'You  say  I  want  to  punish  you  only  because,  like  other  men,  you 
won't  take  the  trouble  to  understand  what  we  do  want  —  or  how 
determined  we  are  to  have  it.  You  can't  kill  this  New  Spirit 
among  women.'  She  went  nearer.  'And  you  couldn't  make  a 
greater  mistake  than  to  think  it  finds  a  home  only  in  the  exceptional 
or  the  unhappy.  It  is  so  strange  to  see  a  man  like  you  as  much 
deluded  as  the  Hyde  Park  loafers,  who  say  to  Ernestine  Blunt, 
"Who's  hurt  your  feelings?"  Why  not  realize'  —  she  came  still 
closer,  if  she  had  put  out  her  hand  she  would  have  touched  him  — 
'this  is  a  thing  that  goes  deeper  than  personal  experience?  And 
yet,'  she  said  in  a  voice  so  hushed  that  it  was  full  of  a  sense  of  the 
girl  on  the  other  side  of  the  door,  '  if  you  take  only  the  narrowest 
personal  view,  a  good  deal  depends  on  what  you  and  I  agree  upon 
in  the  next  five  minutes.' 

'You  recommend  my  realizing  the  larger  issues.  But  in  your 
ambition  to  attach  that  poor  girl  to  the  chariot-wheels  of  Progress ' 
—  his  voice  put  the  drag  of  ironic  pomposity  upon  the  phrase  — 
'  you  quite  ignore  the  fact  that  people  fitter  for  such  work,  the  men 
you  look  to  enlist  in  the  end,  are  ready  waiting '  —  he  pulled  him 
self  up  in  time  for  an  anti-climax —  'to  give  the  thing  a  chance.' 

'  Men  are  ready !     What  men  ? ' 

His  eyes  evaded  hers.  He  picked  his  words.  'Women  have 
themselves  to  blame  that  the  question  has  grown  so  delicate  that 


THE   CONVERT  301 

responsible  people  shrink  for  the  moment  from  being  implicated 
in  it.' 

'We  have  seen  the  shrinking.' 

'Without  quoting  any  one  else,  I  might  point  out  that  the  New 
Antagonism  seems  to  have  blinded  you  to  the  small  fact  that  I  for 
one  am  not  an  opponent.' 

'  The  phrase  has  a  familiar  ring.  We  have  heard  it  four  hundred 
and  twenty  times.' 

His  eyes  were  shining  with  anger.  '  I  spoke,  if  I  may  say  so,  of 
some  one  who  would  count.  Some  one  who  can  carry  his  party 
along  with  him  —  or  risk  a  seat  in  the  cabinet  over  the  issue.' 

'Did  you  mean  you  are  "ready"  to  do  that?'  she  exclaimed. 

'An  hour  ago  I  was.' 

'  Ah  !  an  hour  ago  ! ' 

'Exactly!  You  don't  understand  men.  They  can  be  led; 
they  can't  be  driven.  Ten  minutes  before  you  came  into  the  room 
I  was  ready  to  say  I  would  throw  in  my  political  lot  with  this 
Reform.' 

'And  now?' 

'  Now  you  block  my  way  by  an  attempt  at  coercion.  By  forcing 
my  hand  you  give  my  adherence  an  air  of  bargain-driving  for  a 
personal  end.  Exactly  the  mistake  of  the  ignorant  agitators  in 
Trafalgar  Square.  You  have  a  great  deal  to  learn.  This  move 
ment  will  go  forward,  not  because  of  the  agitation  outside,  but  in 
spite  of  it.  There  are  men  in  Parliament  who  would  have  been 
actively  serving  the  Reform  to-day  —  as  actively  as  so  vast  a 
constitutional  change  — 


She  smiled  faintly.     'And  they  haven't  done  it  because 


'Because  it  would  have  put  a  premium  on  breaches  of  decent 
behaviour  and  defiance  of  the  law ! ' 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  attempt  to  appear  to  accept  this  ver 
sion.  What  did  it  matter  what  reasons  were  given  for  past  failure, 
if  only  the  future  might  be  assured?  He  had  taken  a  piece  of 
crumpled  paper  from  his  pocket  and  smoothed  it  out. 

'  Look  here ! '     He  held  the  telegram  before  her. 

She  flushed  with  excitement  as  she  read.  'This  is  very  good. 
I  see  only  one  objection.' 

'Objection!' 

'You  haven't  sent  it.' 


302  THE   CONVERT 

'That  is  your  fault.'  And  he  looked  as  if  he  thought  he  spoke 
the  truth. 

'When  did  you  write  this?' 

'  Just  before  you  came  in  —  when  she  began  to  talk  about ' 

'Ah,  Jean !'  Vida  gave  him  back  the  paper.  'That  must  have 
pleased  Jean.' 

It  was  a  master  stroke,  the  casual  giving  back,  and  the  invoca 
tion  of  a  pleasure  that  had  been  strangled  at  the  birth  along  with 
something  greater.  Did  he  see  before  him  again  the  girl's  tear- 
filled,  hopeless  eyes,  that  had  not  so  much  as  read  the  wonderful 
message,  too  intent  upon  the  death-warrant  of  their  common  hap 
piness  ?  He  threw  himself  heavily  into  a  chair,  staring  at  the  closed 
door.  Behind  it,  in  a  prison  of  which  this  woman  held  the  key, 
Jean  waited  for  her  life  sentence.  Stonor's  look,  his  attitude, 
seemed  to  say  that  he  too  only  waited  now  to  hear  it.  He  dropped 
his  head  in  his  hand. 

When  Vida  spoke,  it  was  without  raising  her  eyes  from  the 
ground. 

'I  could  drive  a  hard-and-fast  bargain  with  you;  but  I  think  I 

won't.     If  love  and  ambition  both  urge  you  on,  perhaps 

She  looked  up  a  little  defiantly,  seeming  to  expect  to  meet  triumph 
in  his  face.  Instead,  her  eye  took  in  the  profound  hopelessness  of 
the  bent  head,  the  slackness  of  the  big  frame,  that  so  suddenly 
had  assumed  a  look  of  age.  She  went  over  to  him  silently,  and 
stood  by  his  side.  'After  all,'  she  said,  'life  hasn't  been  quite  fair 
to  you.'  At  the  new  thing  in  her  voice  he  raised  his  heavy  e\cs. 
'You  fall  out  of  one  ardent  woman's  dreams  into  another's,'  she  said. 

'Then  you  don't  —  after  all,  you  don't  mean  to ' 

'To  keep  you  and  her  apart?    No.' 

For  the  first  time  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

After  a  little  silence  he  held  out  his  hand.  'What  can  I  do  for 
you  ? ' 

She  seemed  not  to  see  the  hand  he  offered.  Or  did  she  only  see 
that  it  was  empty  ?  She  was  looking  at  the  other.  Mere  instinct 
made  him  close  his  left  hand  more  firmly  on  the  message. 

It  was  as  if  something  finer  than  her  slim  fingers,  the  woman's 
invisible  antennae,  felt  the  force  that  would  need  be  overcome  if 
trial  of  strength  should  be  precipitated  then.  Upon  his  '  What  can 
I  do?'  she  shook  her  head. 


THE  CONVERT  303 

'For  the  real  you,'  he  said.  'Not  the  Reformer,  or  the  would-be 
politician  —  for  the  woman  I  so  unwillingly  hurt.'  As  she  only 
turned  away,  he  stood  up,  detaining  her  with  a  hold  upon  her  arm. 
'You  may  not  believe  it,  but  now  that  I  understand,  there  is  almost 
nothing  I  wouldn't  do  to  right  that  old  wrong.' 

'  There's  nothing  to  be  done,'  she  said ;  and  then,  shrinking  under 
that  look  of  almost  cheerful  benevolence,  'You  can  never  give  me 
back  my  child.' 

More  than  at  the  words,  at  the  anguish  in  her  face,  his  own  had 
changed. 

'Will  that  ghost  give  you  no  rest?'  he  said. 

'Yes,  oh,  yes.'  She  was  calm  again.  'I  see  life  is  nobler  than 
I  knew.  There  is  work  to  do.' 

On  her  way  to  the  great  folding  doors,  once  again  he  stopped 
her. 

'Why  should  you  think  that  it's  only  you  these  ten  years  have 
taught  something  to  ?  Why  not  give  even  a  man  credit  for  a  will 
ingness  to  learn  something  of  life,  and  for  being  sorry  —  pro 
foundly  sorry  —  for  the  pain  his  instruct;on  has  cost  others  ? 
You  seem  to  think  I've  taken  it  all  quite  lightly.  That's  not  fair. 
All  my  life,  ever  since  you  disappeared,  the  thought  of  you  has 
hurt.  I  would  give  anything  I  possess  to  know  you  —  were  happy 
again/ 

'  Oh,  happiness  ! ' 

'Why  shouldn't  you  find  it  still?' 

He  said  it  with  a  significance  that  made  her  stare,  and  then  — 

'  I  see !  she  couldn't  help  telling  you  about  Allen  Trent  —  Lady 
John  couldn't ! ' 

He  ignored  the  interpretation. 

'You're  one  of  the  people  the  years  have  not  taken  from,  but 
given  more  to.  You  are  more  than  ever—  You  haven't  lost 
your  beauty.' 

'The  gods  saw  it  was  so  little  effectual,  it  wasn't  worth  taking 
away.' 

She  stood  staring  out  into  the  void.  'One  woman's  mishap  — 
what  is  that?  A  thing  as  trivial  to  the  great  world  as  it's  sordid 
in  most  eyes.  But  the  time  has  come  when  a  woman  may  look 
about  her  and  say,  What  general  significance  has  my  secret  pain  ? 
Does  it  "join  on"  to  anything ?  And  I  find  it  does.  I'm  no  longer 


304  THE   CONVERT 

simply  a  woman  who  has  stumbled  on  the  way.'  With  difficulty 
she  controlled  the  shake  in  her  voice.  'I'm  one  who  has  got  up 
bruised  and  bleeding,  wiped  the  dust  from  her  hands  and  the  tears 
from  her  face  —  and  said  to  herself  not  merely :  Here's  one  luck 
less  woman  !  but  —  here  is  a  stone  of  stumbling  to  many.  Let's 
see  if  it  can't  be  moved  out  of  other  women's  way.  And  she  calls 
people  to  come  and  help.  No  mortal  man,  let  alone  a  woman, 
by  herself,  can  move  that  rock  of  offence.  But,'  she  ended  with  a 
sudden  sombre  flare  of  enthusiasm,  'if  many  help,  Geoffrey,  the 
thing  can  be  done.' 

He  looked  down  on  her  from  his  height  with  a  wondering  pity. 

'  Lord  !  how  you  care  1 '  he  said,  while  the  mist  deepened  before 
his  eyes. 

'Don't  be  so  sad,'  she  said  —  not  seeming  to  see  his  sadness  was 
not  for  himself.  It  was  as  if  she  could  not  turn  her  back  on  him 
this  last  time  without  leaving  him  comforted.  'Shall  I  tell  you  a 
secret?  Jean's  ardent  dreams  needn't  frighten  you,  if  she  has  a 
child.  That  —  from  the  beginning  it  was  not  the  strong  arm  — 
it  was  the  weakest,  the  little,  little  arms  that  subdued  the  fiercest 
of  us.' 

He  held  out  a  shaking  hand,  so  uncertain,  that  it  might  have 
been  begging  pity,  or  it  might  have  been  bestowing  it.  Even  then 
she  did  not  take  it,  but  a  great  gentleness  was  in  her  face  as  she 
said  — 

'You  will  have  other  children,  Geoffrey;  for  me  there  was  to 
be  only  one.  Well,  well,'  she  brushed  the  tears  away,  'since  men 
have  tried,  and  failed  to  make  a  decent  world  for  the  little  children 
to  live  in,  it's  as  well  some  of  us  are  childless.  Yes,'  she  said 
quietly,  taking  up  the  hat  and  cloak,  'we  are  the  ones  who  have  no 
excuse  for  standing  aloof  from  the  fight!' 

Her  hand  was  on  the  door. 

'Vida!' 

'What?' 

'You  forgot  something.' 

She  looked  back. 

He  was  signing  the  message.     '  This,'  he  said. 

She  went  out  with  the  paper  in  her  hand. 


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This  series  has  taken  its  place  as  one  of  the  most  important  popular- 
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Addams  —  The  Spirit  of  Youth  and  the  City  Streets 

BY  JANE  ADDAMS 

"  Shows  such  sanity,  such  breadth  and  tolerance  of  mind,  and  such 
penetration  into  the  inner  meanings  of  outward  phenomena  as  to  make 
it  a  book  which  no  one  can  afford  to  miss."  — New  York  Times. 

Bailey  —  The  Country  Life  Movement  in  the  United  States 

BY  L.  H.  BAILEY 

"...  clearly  thought  out,  admirably  written,  and  always  stimulating 
in  its  generalization  and  in  the  perspectives  it  opens." — Philadelphia 
Press. 

Bailey  and  Hunn  —  The  Practical  Garden  Book 

BY  L.  H.  BAILEY  AND  C.  E.  HUNN 

"  Presents  only  those  facts  that  have  been  proved  by  experience,  and 
which  are  most  capable  of  application  on  the  farm." — Los  Angeles 
Express. 

Campbell  —  The  New  Theology 

BY  R.  J.  CAMPBELL 

"A  fine  contribution  to  the  better  thought  of  our  times  written  in  the 
spirit  of  the  Master."  —St.  Paul  Dispatch. 

Clark  —  The  Care  of  a  House 

BY  T.  M.  CLARK 

"  If  the  average  man  knew  one-ninth  of  what  Mr.  Clark  tells  him  in 
this  book,  he  would  be  able  to  save  money  every  year  on  repairs,  etc." 
—  Chicago  Tribune. 

3 


Conyngton  —  How  to  Help :  A  Manual  of  Practical  Charity 

BY  MARY  CONYNGTON 

"  An  exceedingly  comprehensive  work  with  chapters  on  the  homeless 
man  and  woman,  care  of  needy  families,  and  the  discussions  of  the  prob 
lems  of  child  labor." 

Coolidge  —  The  United  States  as  a  World  Power 

BY  ARCHIBALD  GARY  COOLIDGE 

"  A  work  of  real  distinction  .  .  .  which  moves  the  reader  to  thought." 
—  The  Nation. 

Croly  —  The  Promise  of  American  Life 

BY  HERBERT  CROLY 

"  The  most  profound  and  illuminating  study  of  our  national  conditions 
which  has  appeared  in  many  years."  —  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT. 

Devine  —  Misery  and  Its  Causes 

BY  EDWARD  T.  DEVINE 

"  One  rarely  comes  across  a  book  so  rich  in  every  page,  yet  so  sound, 
so  logical,  and  thorough."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

Earle  —  Home  Life  in  Colonial  Days 

BY  ALICE  MORSE  EARLE 
"  A  book  which  throws  new  light  on  our  early  history." 

Ely  —  Evolution  of  Industrial  Society 

BY  RICHARD  T.  ELY 

"  The  benefit  of  competition  and  the  improvement  of  the  race,  mu 
nicipal  ownership,  and  concentration  of  wealth  are  treated  in  a  sane, 
helpful,  and  interesting  manner." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

Ely — Monopolies  and  Trusts 

BY  RICHARD  T.  ELY 

"  The  evils  of  monopoly  are  plainly  stated,  and  remedies  are  proposed. 
This  book  should  be  a  help  to  every  man  in  active  business  life."  — 
Baltimore  Sun. 

French  — How  to  Grow  Vegetables 

BY  ALLEN  FRENCH 

"  Particularly  valuable  to  a  beginner  in  vegetable  gardening,  giving 
not  only  a  convenient  and  reliable  planting-table,  but  giving  particular 
attention  to  the  culture  of  the  vegetables." — Suburban  Life. 

4 


Goodyear  —  Renaissance  and  Modern  Art 

W.  H.  GOODYEAR 
"A  thorough  and  scholarly  interpretation  of  artistic  development." 

Hapgood — Abraham  Lincoln :  The  Man  of  the  People 

BY  NORMAN  HAPGOOD 

"  A  life  of  Lincoln  that  has  never  been  surpassed  in  vividness,  com 
pactness,  and  homelike  reality."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

Haultain  —  The  Mystery  of  Golf 

BY  ARNOLD  HAULTAIN 

"  It  is  more  than  a  golf  book.  These  is  interwoven  with  it  a  play  of 
mild  philosophy  and  of  pointed  wit."  — Boston  Globe. 

Hearn  —  Japan :  An  Attempt  at  Interpretation 

BY  LAFCADIO  HEARN 

"  A  thousand  books  have  been  written  about  Japan,  but  this  one  is 
one  of  the  rarely  precious  volumes  which  opens  the  door,  to  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  wonderful  people  who  command  the  attention  of 
the  world  to-day."  — Boston  Herald. 

Hillis  —  The  Quest  of  Happiness 

BY  REV.  NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS 

"  Its  whole  tone  and  spirit  is  of  a  sane,  healthy  optimism." — Phila 
delphia  Telegraph. 

Hillquit  —  Socialism  in  Theory  and  Practice 

BY  MORRIS  HILLQUIT 

"An  interesting  historical  sketch  of  the  movement."  —  Newark  Even 
ing  News. 

Hodges — Everyman's  Religion 

BY  GEORGE  HODGES 

"  Religion  to-day  is  preeminently  ethical  and  social,  and  such  is  the 
religion  so  ably  and  attractively  set  forth  in  these  pages." — Boston 
Herald. 

Home  —  David  Livingstone 

BY  SILVESTER  C.  HORNE 

The  centenary  edition  of  this  popular  work.  A  clear,  simple,  narra 
tive  biography  of  the  great  missionary,  explorer,  and  scientist. 

5 


Hunter  —  Poverty 

BY  ROBERT  HUNTER 

"  Mr.  Hunter's  book  is  at  once  sympathetic  and  scientific.  He  brings 
to  the  task  a  store  of  practical  experience  in  settlement  work  gathered 
in  many  parts  of  the  country."  — Boston  Transcript. 

Hunter  —  Socialists  at  Work 

BY  ROBERT  HUNTER 

"  A  vivid,  running  characterization  of  the  foremost  personalities  in  the 
Socialist  movement  throughout  the  world." — Review  of  Reviews. 

Jefferson  —  The  Building  of  the  Church 

BY  CHARLES  E.  JEFFERSON 
"A  book  that  should  be  read  by  every  minister." 

King  —  The  Ethics  of  Jesus 

BY  HENRY  CHURCHILL  KING 

"  I  know  no  other  study  of  the  ethical  teaching  of  Jesus  so  scholarly, 
so  careful,  clear  and  compact  as  this."  —  G.  H.  PALMER,  Harvard  Uni 
versity. 

King  —  Rational  Living 

BY  HENRY  CHURCHILL  KING 

"  An  able  conspectus  of  modern  psychological  investigation,  viewed 
from  the  Christian  standpoint."  — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

London  —  The  War  of  the  Classes 

BY  JACK  LONDON 

"  Mr.  London's  book  is  thoroughly  interesting,  and  his  point  of  view 
is  very  different  from  that  of  the  closest  theorist."  —  Springfield  Repub 
lican. 

London  —  Revolution  and  Other  Essays 

BY  JACK  LONDON 
"  Vigorous,  socialistic  essays,  animating  and  insistent." 

Lyon  —  How  to  Keep  Bees  for  Profit 

BY  EVERETT  D.  LYON 

"  A  book  which  gives  an  insight  into  the  life  history  of  the  bee  family, 
as  well  as  telling  the  novice  how  to  start  an  apiary  and  care  for  it."  — 
Country  Life  in  America. 

6 


McLennan  —  A  Manual  of  Practical  Farming 

BY  JOHN  MCLENNAN 

"The  author  has  placed  before  the  reader  in  the  simplest  terms  a 
means  of  assistance  in  the  ordinary  problems  of  farming."  —  National 
Nurseryman. 

Mabie  —  William  Shakespeare  :  Poet,  Dramatist,  and  Man 

BY  HAMILTON  W.  MABIE 
"  It  is  rather  an  interpretation  than  a  record."  —  Chicago  Standard. 

Mahaffy  —  Rambles  and  Studies  in  Greece 

BY  J.  P.  MAHAFFY 

"To  the  intelligent  traveler  and  lover  of  Greece  this  volume  will 
prove  a  most  sympathetic  guide  and  companion." 

Mathews  —  The  Church  and  the  Changing  Order 

BY  SHAILER  MATHEWS 

"  The  book  throughout  is  characterized  by  good  sense  and  restraint. 
...  A  notable  book  and  one  that  every  Christian  may  read  with 
profit."  —  The  Living  Church. 

Mathews  —  The  Gospel  and  the  Modern  Man 

BY  SHAILER  MATHEWS 
"  A  succinct  statement  of  the  essentials  of  the  New  Testament."  — 

Service- 

Patten  —  The  Social  Basis  of  Religion 

BY  SIMON  N.  PATTEN 
"  A  work  of  substantial  value  "  — Continent. 

Peabody  —  The  Approach  to  the  Social  Question 

BY  FRANCIS  GREENWOOD  PEABODY 

"  This  book  is  at  once  the  most  delightful,  persuasive,  and  sagacious 
contribution  to  the  subject."  —  Louisville  Courier- Journal. 

Pierce  —  The  Tariff  and  the  Trusts 

BY  FRANKLIN  PIERCE 

"An  excellent  campaign  document  for  a  non-protectionist." — Inde 
pendent. 

Rauschenbusch  —  Christianity  and  the  Social  Crisis 

BY  WALTER  RAUSCHENBUSCH 

"  It  is  a  book  to  like,  to  learn  from,  and  to  be  charmed  with."  — 
New  York  Times. 

7 


Riis  —  The  Making  of  an  American 

BY  JACOB  Rns 

"  Its  romance  and  vivid  incident  make  it  as  varied  and  delightful  as 
any  romance."  — Publisher's  Weekly. 

Riis  —  Theodore  Roosevelt,  the  Citizen 

BY  JACOB  Rns 
"A  refreshing  and  stimulating  picture."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

Ryan  —  A  Living  Wage;  Its  Ethical  and  Economic  Aspects 

BY  REV.  J.  A.  RYAN 

"The  most  judicious  and  balanced  discussion  at  the  disposal  of  the 
general  reader."  —  World  To-day. 

St.  Maur  —  A  Self-supporting  Home 

BY  KATE  V.  ST.  MAUR 

"  Each  chapter  is  the  detailed  account  of  all  the  work  necessary  for 
one  month  —  in  the  vegetable  garden,  among  the  small  fruits,  with  the 
fowls,  guineas,  rabbits,  and  in  every  branch  of  husbandry  to  be  met 
with  on  the  small  farm." — Louisville  Courier- Journal. 

Sherman  —  What  is  Shakespeare  ? 

BY  L.  A.  SHERMAN 

"  Emphatically  a  work  without  which  the  library  of  the  Shakespeare 
student  will  be  incomplete."  — Daily  Telegram. 

Sidgwick  —  Home  Life  in  Germany 

BY  A.  SIDGWICK 
"  A  vivid  picture  of  social  life  and  customs  in  Germany  to-day." 

Smith  —  The  Spirit  of  American  Government 

BY  J.  ALLEN  SMITH 

"  Not  since  Bryce's  '  American  Commonwealth '  has  a  book  been 
produced  which  deals  so  searchingly  with  American  political  institutions 
and  their  history."  —  New  York  Evening  Telegram. 

Spargo  —  Socialism 

BY  JOHN  SPARGO 

"One  of  the  ablest  expositions  of  Socialism  that  has  ever  been 
written."  —  New  York  Evening  Call. 

8 


Tarbell  — History  of  Greek  Art 

BY  T.  B.  TARBELL 

"  A  sympathetic  and  understanding  conception  of  the  golden  age  oi 
art." 

Valentine  —  How  to  Keep  Hens  for  Profit 

BY  C.  S.  VALENTINE 

"  Beginners  and  seasoned  poultrymen  will  find  in  it  much  of  value." 
—  Chicago  Tribune. 

Van  Dyke  —  The  Gospel  for  a  World  of  Sin 

BY  HENRY  VAN  DYKE 

"  One  of  the  basic  books  of  true  Christian  thought  of  to-day  and  of 
all  times."  —  Boston  Courier. 

Van  Dyke  —  The  Spirit  of  America 

BY  HENRY  VAN  DYKE 

"  Undoubtedly  the  most  notable  interpretation  in  years  of  the  real 
America.  It  compares  favorably  with  Bryce's  'American  Common 
wealth.'  "  — Philadelphia  Press. 

Veblen  —  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class 
BY  THORSTEIN  B.  VEBLEN 

"The  most  valuable  recent  contribution  to  the  elucidation  of  this 
subject."  —  London  Times. 

Wells  —  New  Worlds  for  Old 

BY  H.  G.  WELLS 

"  As  a  presentation  of  Socialistic  thought  as  it  is  working  to-day,  this 
is  the  most  judicious  and  balanced  discussion  at  the  disposal  of  the 
general  reader."  —  World  To-day. 

White  — The  Old  Order  Changeth 

BY  WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE 

"  The  present  status  of  society  in  America.  An  excellent  antidote  to 
the  pessimism  of  modern  writers  on  our  social  system."  —  Baltimore 

Sun. 


THE  MACMILLAN  FICTION  LIBRARY 


A  new  and  important  series  of  some  of  the  best  popular  novels  which 
have  been  published  in  recent  years. 

These  successful  books  are  now  made  available  at  a  popular  price  in 
response  to  the  insistent  demand  for  cheaper  editions. 


Each  volume,  cloth,  12mo,  50  cents  net;  postage,  10  cents  extra 


Allen  —  A  Kentucky  Cardinal 
BY  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

"A  narrative,  told  with  naive  simplicity,  of  how  a  man  who  was 
devoted  to  his  fruits  and  flowers  and  birds  came  to  fall  in  love  with  a 
fair  neighbor."  — New  York  Tribune. 

Allen  —  The  Reign  of  Law        A  Tale  of  the  Kentucky  Hempfields 

BY  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

"  Mr.  Allen  has  style  as  original  and  almost  as  perfectly  finished  as 
Hawthorne's.  .  .  .  And  rich  in  the  qualities  that  are  lacking  in  so 
many  novels  of  the  period."  — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

Atherton  — Patience  Sparhawk 
BY  GERTRUDE  ATHERTON 

"One  of  the  most  interesting  works  of  the  foremost  American 
novelist." 

Child  —  Jim  Hands 

BY  RICHARD  WASHBURN  CHILD 

"A  big,  simple,  leisurely  moving  chronicle  of  life.  Commands  the 
profoundest  respect  and  admiration.  Jim  is  a  real  man,  sound  and 
fine." — Daily  News. 

Crawford  —  The  Heart  of  Rome 

BY  MARION  CRAWFORD 
"A  story  of  underground  mysterie." 

Crawford  —  Fair  Margaret :  A  Portrait 

BY  MARION  CRAWFORD 

"A  story  of  modern  life  in  Italy,  visualizing  the  country  and  its 
people,  and  warm  with  the  red  blood  of  romance  and  melodrama."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 

10 


Davis  —  A  Friend  of  Caesar 

BY  WILLIAM  STEARNS  DAVIS 

"  There  are  many  incidents  so  vivid,  so  brilliant,  that  they  fix  them 
selves  in  the  memory."  —  NANCY  HUSTON  BANKS  in  The  Bookman. 

Drummond  —  The  Justice  of  the  King 

BY  HAMILTON  DRUMMOND 

"  Read  the  story  for  the  sake  of  the  living,  breathing  people,  the  ad 
ventures,  but  most  for  the  sake  of  the  boy  who  served  love  and  the 
King." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

Elizabeth  and  Her  German  Garden 

"  It  is  full  of  nature  in  many  phases  —  of  breeze  and  sunshine,  of  the 
glory  of  the  land,  and  the  sheer  joy  of  living." — New  York  Times. 

Gale  —  Loves  of  Pelleas  and  Etarre 

BY  ZONA  GALE 

"...  full  of  fresh  feeling  and  grace  of  style,  a  draught  from  the 
fountain  of  youth."  — Outlook. 

Herrick  —  The  Common  Lot 

BY  ROBERT  HERRICK 

"A  story  of  present-day  life,  intensely  real  in  its  picture  of  a  young 
architect  whose  ideals  in  the  beginning  were,  at  their  highest,  aesthetic 
rather  than  spiritual.  It  is  an  unusual  novel  of  great  interest." 

London  —  Adventure 

BY  JACK  LONDON 

"  No  reader  of  Jack  London's  stories  need  be  told  that  this  abounds 
with  romantic  and  dramatic  incident."  — Los  Angeles  Tribune. 

London  —  Burning  Daylight 

BY  JACK  LONDON 

"  Jack  London  has  outdone  himself  in  '  Burning  Daylight.'  "  —  The 
Springfield  Union. 

Loti  —  Disenchanted 

BY  PIERRE  LOTI 

"  It  gives  a  more  graphic  picture  of  the  life  of  the  rich  Turkish  women 
of  to-day  than  anything  that  has  ever  been  written."  — Brooklyn  Daily 
Eagle. 


Lucas  —  Mr.  Ingleside 
BY  E.  V.  LUCAS 

"  He  displays  himself  as  an  intellectual  and  amusing  observer  of  life's 
foibles  with  a  hero  characterized  by  inimitable  kindness  and  humor." 

—  The  Independent. 

Mason  —  The  Four  Feathers 

BY  A.  E.  W.  MASON 

" '  The  Four  Feathers '  is  a  first-rate  story,  with  more  legitimate 
thrills  than  any  novel  we  have  read  in  a  long  time."  — New  York  Press. 

Norris  —  Mother 

BY  KATHLEEN  NORRIS 
"  Worth  its  weight  in  gold."  — Catholic  Columbian. 

Oxenham  —  The  Long  Road 

BY  JOHN  OXENHAM 

' '  The  Long  Road '  is  a  tragic,  heart-gripping  story  of  Russian  politi 
cal  and  social  conditions."  —  The  Craftsman. 

Pryor  —  The  Colonel's  Story 

BY  MRS.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR 

"The  story  is  one  in  which  the  spirit  of  the  Old  South  figures  largely; 
adventure  and  romance  have  their  play  and  carry  the  plot  to  a  satisfy 
ing  end." 

Remington  —  Ermine  of  the  Yellowstone 

BY  JOHN  REMINGTON 

"  A  very  original  and  remarkable  novel  wonderful  in  its  vigor  and 
freshness." 

Roberts  —  Kings  in  Exile 

BY  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

"  The  author  catches  the  spirit  of  forest  and  sea  life,  and  the  reader 
comes  to  have  a  personal  love  and  knowledge  of  our  animal  friends." 

—  Boston  Globe. 

Robins  —  The  Convert 

BY  ELIZABETH  ROBINS 

" '  The  Convert '  devotes  itself  to  the  exploitation  of  the  recent  suf 
fragist  movement  in  England.  It  is  a  book  not  easily  forgotten,  by  any 
thoughtful  reader." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

12 


Robins  —  A  Dark  Lantern 

BY  ELIZABETH  ROBINS 

A  powerful  and  striking  novel,  English  in  scene,  which  takes  an  essen 
tially  modern  view  of  society  and  of  certain  dramatic  situations. 

Ward  —  David  Grieve 

BY  MRS.  HUMPHREY  WARD 

"  A  perfect  picture  of  life,  remarkable  for  its  humor  and  extraordinary 
success  at  character  analysis." 

Wells  — The  Wheels  of  Chance 

BY  H.  G.  WELLS 

"  Mr.  Wells  is  beyond  question  the  most  plausible  romancer  of  the 
time."  —  The  New  York  Tribune. 


THE  MACMILLAN  JUVENILE  LIBRARY 


This  collection  of  juvenile  books  contains  works  of  standard  quality, 
on  a  variety  of  subjects  —  history,  biography,  fiction,  science,  and  poetry 
—  carefully  chosen  to  meet  the  needs  and  interests  of  both  boys  and 
girls. 

Each  volume,  cloth,  12mo,  50  cents  net;  postage,  10  cents  extra 


Altsheler  —  The  Horsemen  of  the  Plains 

BY  JOSEPH  A.  ALTSHELER 

"A  story  of  the  West,  of  Indians,  of  scouts,  trappers,  fur  traders,  and, 
in  short,  of  everything  that  is  dear  to  the  imagination  of  a  healthy 
American  boy." — New  York  Sun. 

Bacon  —  While  Caroline  Was  Growing 

BY  JOSEPHINE  DASKAM  BACON 

"  Only  a  genuine  lover  of  children,  and  a  keenly  sympathetic  observer 
of  human  nature,  could  have  given  us  a  book  as  this." — Boston  Herald. 

Carroll  —  Alice's  Adventures,  and  Through  the  Looking  Glass 

BY  LEWIS  CARROLL 
"  One  of  the  immortal  books  for  children." 

Dix  — A  Little  Captive  Lad 

BY  MARIE  BEULAH  Dix 
"  The  human  interest  is  strong,  and  children  are  sure  to  like  it."  — 

Washington  Times. 

13 


Greene  —  Pickett's  Gap 

BY  HOMER  GREENE 

"  The  story  presents  a  picture  of  truth  and  honor  that  cannot  fail  to 
have  a  vivid  impression  upon  the  reader."  —  Toledo  Blade. 

Lucas  —  Slowcoach 

BY  E.  V.  LUCAS 

"The  record  of  an  English  family's  coaching  tour  in  a  great  old- 
fashioned  wagon.  A  charming  narrative,  as  quaint  and  original  as  its 
name."  —  Booknews  Monthly. 

Mabie  —  Book  of  Christmas 

BY  H.  W.  MABIE 

"  A  beautiful  collection  of  Christmas  verse  and  prose  in  which  all  the 
old  favorites  will  be  found  in  an  artistic  setting."  —  The  St.  Louis  Mir 
ror. 

Major  —  The  Bears  of  Blue  River 

BY  CHARLES  MAJOR 
"  An  exciting  story  with  all  the  thrills  the  title  implies." 

Major  —  Uncle  Tom  Andy  Bill 

BY  CHARLES  MAJOR 

"A  stirring  story  full  of  bears,  Indians,  and  hidden  treasures."  — 
Cleveland  Leader. 

Nesbit  —  The  Railway  Children 

BY  E.  NESBIT 

"A  delightful  story  revealing  the  author's  intimate  knowledge  of 
juvenile  ways."  —  The  Nation. 

Whyte  —  The  Story  Book  Girls 

BY  CHRISTINA  G.  WHYTE 

"A  book  that  all  girls  will  read  with  delight  —  a  sweet,  wholesome 
story  of  girl  life." 

Wright  —  Dream  Fox  Story  Book 
BY  MABEL  OSGOOD  WRIGHT 

"  The  whole  book  is  delicious  with  its  wise  and  kindly  humor,  its  just 
perspective  of  the  true  value  of  things." 

Wright  — Aunt  Jimmy's  Will 

BY  MABEL  OSGOOD  WRIGHT 

"  Barbara  has  written  no  more  delightful  book  than  this." 

14 


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